


Together as now, (forever as one).

by Faustkomskaikru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/F, Fine Stud Lexa, Fluff and Smut, For your pleasure, Happy Ending, Multiverse, Smut, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faustkomskaikru/pseuds/Faustkomskaikru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> "Everytime she looks at me I unravel. I open and become someone I never thought I could be. I'm this other version of myself but it feels like it's who I've been meaning to be. It makes me feel complete but so painfully empty. I don't know what to make of this feeling. It's constantly inside of me, and I can't seem to break free. It consumes me, it's like a battle I will never win, like a storm that will never pass. She invaded me and I just can't understand how she did that in so little time. But that also feels like an eternity. She's haunting, daunting. She's persistent while being absent. How does it even make sense? I don't understand. I can't make sense of what's happening, and I feel split in two, waiting for her to fill the gaping hole inside of me." </i> </p><p>Or </p><p>The Clexa Soulmates AU literally no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Be careful of the curse, (that falls on young lovers).

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I've been working on this for quite some times. The concept, you may have gathered, is that Clarke and Lexa are soulmates. I wanted to do a soulmate story but it felt to constricting to write only one story. So I thought, why not write them all? So, this is a multi-chapter, one-shot-ish, where a new chapter is a new life-time, and the first is the first time they meet. The first fews stories are already decided, but PLEASE feel free to come on tumblr @ ifwearestrangers or drop a comment if your have headcanons, aesthetic or ideas.  
> I must warn you that each story ends with one of them or both dying, but there is ALWAYS a new chapter awaiting with both of them living again and again.  
> 

There is something incredibly fascinating to history, and utlimately, life in its very core. Maybe it is the tendency it has to repeat itself, without ever being the same. This striking paradox that things are doomed to happen again and again, filling human kind with a sense of eternal déjà-vu, without ever granting it with actual reoccurance.

Are we fated to reproduce the same mistakes, over and over? Fate. It's a special word. It's a funny word. It holds this idea that no one is entitled to their own life. To their own choices. Maybe it means, in some ways, that whatever we do decide, whatever we do choose, all the roads and all the choices lead to the same outcome.

And if life is a cycle, if life forever comes full circle, that we are fated, destined to futures that aren't ours to decide, does that make us perpetually subjected to the grand scheme of things? Do we accept it? Do we even realize it? And if we do, do we stop it? The real question is do we want to stop it.

Let me tell you a story. It isn't often you hear a tale like this. A tale of a neverending bond, caught in the whirlwind of cycles and doomed by its destiny. This story, as of now, knows no end. It might never. And that's all the beauty and despair of it.

It's two people, two souls, that are cursed to live with repeatedly having to watch each other die. It's two friends, two lovers, that are blessed to live with the knowledge that no matter what happens next, that no matter how hard the cycle gets, it'll always start over.

My story begins the first time souls entwined, met and recognized.

And, almost as expected, it begins with a princess, and although the term will lose its sense over generations, it'll never lose its meaning. The princess' name is Lexa. If I'm being accurate, I should tell you it's Alexandria, but the young green-eyed brunette doesn't care much for it. Lexa is just fine, she will tell you, if you dare call her otherwise. She'll say it with a gentle authority. And you will comply.

Lexa is a carefree young girl, that often finds herself yearning for something unknown. She has yet to figure out what, and it's not uncommon to find her wandering the castle and its surroundings, white dress falling pliantly against her body, bare feet brushing the fresh grass in the morning.

She roams in the deep forest or in endless corridors of the castle for hours, until King Gustus orders half the guard to search the entire land to bring his missing daughter back. But she's not hiding, never, she just roams, so she's easily found.

“Loosing yourself around the castle like this is unwise, Alexandria.”

“Father.”

“Lexa,”

“I am not loosing myself on those long hours, if anything, I am trying to find it.”

“You are the future Queen of this kingdom, and it is time you start acting like it.” His voice is gentle despite the accusation behind the words. It lacks sincerity.

“So a Queen musn't be allowed time to herself?”

“A Queen you will be when you will stop disappearing on your aging father.”

“Ah, I see much clearly now.” The argument always ends in the same way. “Surely this hasn't been about my ability to fulfill my duty to the throne, but merely about my poor aging father's concerns for my safety.”

A chuckling Gustus always ends up telling her to be careful and to remember to be brave.

-

The morning of her eighteenth birthday, when the castle is fussing over planning festivities, going out of their way to attend to Lexa's every need, the young heiress feels particularly yearning. She has an emptiness inside her chest. So she starts wandering again.

She walks slowly, searching. She touches the rugged stones of the walls, and tries to find answers in their secrets. She reads past lives of countless like her, imagines other girls brushing their fingers against the same spots as her, creating connections in impossible places.

She thinks of the lives that animated the lands before her, before her father. She heard legends, she heard myths. She heard about faceless heroes that have accomplished much, or traitors that set examples. She wants to know about people, about unique and beautiful people whose stories are not written for posterity, but written in their heart, and in their eyes. Sometimes, she feels like she seeks for her own words to be written in someone else's eyes.

But duty calls, and she can't linger too long, listening to the quiet murmurs of the cold rocks.

She goes through celebratory dinner, holding her head high under the scrutiny of the lucky people attending this ceremony. She keeps her stance steady at all times, shoulders tired. She aches to let them down, run in the soft night that is falling. The hole between her ribs expands tenfold.

After the meal is over, and people dance and laugh in her name, she slips away, takes advantage of the darkening skies. She doesn't want to be found this time. She visits places she rarely went before.

The stables. The soldiers usually there are always looking at her with hunger for something she isn't willing to give. She avoids it. This time it seems empty, and the horses wouldn't dare look at her the wrong way.

However, she's surprised to find light, to hear a soft voice, gentle and soothing. It's not masculine, it's not a man's. That's the second surprise. Women are not allowed near the stables usually, and the only reason she's here is because her title grants her permission. Only members of the King's army are allowed in here.

When she rounds the corner, the voice getting clearer, nearer, there's the sight of a long haired blonde girl ever so softly brushing a horse's neck, Lexa's breath hitch.

During long minutes, hidden from view, the brunette just stares, striken. She doesn't dare breathe, or make any sound that could disturb the scene before her. There is something utterly familiar about this girl, and she aches. Her chest feels suddenly heavy. She doesn't dare acknowledge the reason, it frigthens her to no end. But you and I know: the hole between her lungs is not a hole anymore.

In its place, there is a ghost feeling. It's not filled yet. It's not substancial. But it's here. Something is, where nothing was. And that fact alone sends waves of dizziness through Lexa's body.

“Good boy, good boy,” she hears, over and over again, vocie hoarse.

So she speaks. She has to, or the world might just stop turning.

“Do you know that women are not allowed in the stables?”

The blonde doesn't even flinch. She stops her hand at the base of the animal's neck, and turns slightly.

“I must ask what you're doing here, then.”

Lexa, hidden in the shadows of a corner, takes a step forward, revealing herself. Eyes meet.

For a second, both girls believe that the Earth has, indeed, stopped turning.

The blonde, Clarke, as the universe decided to name her, is the first to break the silence.

“Princess, I'm sorry.”

She doesn't bow though, as the coutume would want it. Lexa is grateful for that. Sometimes, she just wishes she could be treated like everyone else. Sometimes, she hates the weight that comes with a title and a crown that isn't even on her head yet.

“Lexa is fine.”

“Lexa,” The blonde repeats. The name falls from her mouth effortlessly.

“I must ask again-”

“I'm a member of the King's Army.”

To say that Lexa didn't expected this would be an understatement. She stays silent, dubitative. So Clarke continues.

“My father helped yours a great deal. He repaid the favors by letting me into his army.”

“Why would he repay him like this?”

“I asked to join. The other members weren't too happy but they wouldn't go against the King's orders. As long as I keep to myself, there's no problems. Some of them are decents and worthy men.”

“You are a soldier.” Lexa still can't believe it, and now that she tears her eyes from the other girl's face, she notices the black armor. It's weirdly appealing, yet unfamiliar to see a woman in such attire. Warmth settles deep within her, pooling in her stomach, and the feeling is so new, Lexa has to take a step back.

“I am Clarke.” And the name, clicking in the other's mouth, forces the princess to take another step back. Eyes meet again, something shifts in the atmosphere. A buzz can almost be heard.

“Clarke, the soldier.”

“Lexa, the princess.” And there's a small smile gracing Clarke's lips. She feels warm. Being a nineteen years old soldier in the king's army has allowed her the same privileges her fellow soldiers experience. And, it's not uncommon that ladies would come and find her at night, when she's in her quarters. She recognizes a woman's beauty, she knows of desire and lust.

However, there is something essentially different. Oh, there is no denying of the beauty in front of her. Lexa's beauty is known to all. In the soft light, tired eyes, loneliless induced look, she looks celestial. The difference doesn't reside in the beauty of the girl. Clarke can't find the words to explain, nor can she understand the feeling in the first place.

“Clarke,” Lexa repeats. It's a mantra. A prayer, a soft adage. An invisible pull makes her advance again, and the two steps back she took earlier become three steps forward.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmurs, taking a step as well. Armor clings, straw creaks. They're much closer than people that have never met should be. The brunette isn't about to tell the blonde to step back though. The feeling of another's presence in her space is both refreshing and thrilling.

“Shouldn't you be celebrating yourself?” The blonde asks, quietly.

“There are enough people in the castle celebrating me.” She says, a vague melancholia rooting beneath her words. “They obviously do not need my presence to do so.” She pauses and think. “Shouldn't _you_ be celebrating me?”

“As you so rightfully put it, princess, I don't need your presence to celebrate you. Therefore, I don't need to be where the festivities are to think of you.”

“I am not where the festivities are, _therefore_ , your argument is highly invalid.”

“Wherever I am, know that I am always celebrating you.”

Clarke is glad that she has experienced physical desire and flirting before. The deep flush on the princess' cheeks is a nice reward.

“Surely, you weren't celebrating me before I came down here.”

“Be sure that I will constantly do as of now, then.”

There's not a trace of playfulness. The words are violent with meaning, and when the blonde extends her hand, the brunette slips hers in it almost immediately. They both do their best to ignore the spark that shocks their system. Failure hangs heavy in the air.

The kiss pressed to the soft skin of a pale hand sets an imaginary clock. Something beyond all of us gets into action. Something has begun.

Clarke's eyes never leave the brunette's as she touches with her lips silky perfection; she lingers, her fingers enjoying the warm feeling of holding such a precious thing. Lexa is entranced by that simple gesture, that has been done to her countless times before. Never before, though, it's made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Never has she felt shivers run through her entire body at the mere contact of lips on her skin. This kiss, however reverent and solemn, feels like the most intimate encounter she ever shared. She buzzes and crave for more, enjoying every everlasting seconds of Clarke's lips against her hand.

“Your hand kissing skills would put many gentlemen to shame.” Lexa says, soft, shy, eyes looking down. It is such an honour for Clarke to be witnessing such a display. Appearing vulnerable and affected is not a common occurrence amongst the royal family.

“I do not pride myself in treating a woman with the respect she deserves.”

“Why wouldn't you?”

“If you take pride in giving a lady what is rightfully hers, it is implied that you do not think she should have it.”

“I don't think I understand,”

Clarke is all smiles and tender eyes. There's sadness in there, too. It saddens her that a beautiful young woman doesn't understand the basic idea of esteem. That she can't tell the difference between respect, and obedience, submission. That she thinks the servility and docility of subjects, of people of the court, are a sign of respect and consideration.

“My respect for you is not earned. You don't have to put in an effort for me to give it. I don't have to work myself into respecting and adoring you. It is given. It is normalcy. _Therefore_ , there is no need for me to be proud of something that comes naturally.”

“You have an honourable heart, Clarke.”

When looks cross, green meets blue, long silences fall between exchanged breaths. It takes them several minutes to realize their hands never untouched. There is a fire in the space between their fingers and it burns beautiful. Soft passions yet to be discovered.

“What are you doing in the stables at such a dark hour, Princess Lexa?”

“I came.. wandering. Searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Curious.” They can't pull apart, if anything, they only come closer, arms tucked between their bodies.

“How do you know when you find it, if so?”

“I just will.” Deep down, maybe she already knows, maybe she already realized, that she found it just now.

“Let me know when you do, then.”

Lexa can only nod slightly, because when all those hours she thought she seeked solitude and peace, she was in fact searching for the opposite. In front of this stranger that doesn't feel like one, she comes to accept this truth.

“I should probably return to the castle,”

“You should.”

None of them makes a move. Clarke makes the terrible mistake of averting her eyes, letting them fall on pink, full lips. Their arms have shifted, somehow, the need for physical contact grand and consuming. Hands have slipped upon foreams, and fingers started to grip the muscles under them. It ressembles a salute, a promise.

“Goodnight, Soldier,”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

And, before the blonde can make a second mistake like tasting the tempting mouth before her, she lets go of the arm, and steps back. The young brunette grabs at her dress and wordlessly makes her way out of the stables, heart beating loud, as loud as the soldier's. It creates melodies underneath the stars and it's the only sound they hear before falling asleep tonight.

-

The following morning, when Lexa wakes, light yellow and blue eyes is the first thing she thinks about. She considers going to the stables first thing but she knows it to be unwise and she doesn't wish for anyone's company other than the blonde's.

She decides against it.

She goes to the swing, the early hours of the day still hiding most of the sun, but the light is making it's way above the mountains and forests.

She sits on the old piece of wood, hanging weakly from two ropes. She's surprised when it doesn't break under her weight. It's been a long time since she came down here. She couldn't tell what compelled her to come back.

The soft creak of the rope against the branch of the oak tree takes her back to a couple of years ago.

She almost feels the hands on her back, pushing her higher and higher. Too high sometimes, and she'd scream Anya's name with a laugh.

“Don't be so scared,” Anya would tell her. “I will protect you, you won't fall.” It never failed to reassure her.

She closes her eyes, tries to imagine her voice now. Would it sound the same? Would it have changed, slightly so, getting huskier?

She almost hears it. It says “I'm proud of you Lexa,”.

Eyes still closed, she answers without thinking and her words fall into the void of silence, never reaching anyone's ear.

“Whatever for?”

“For being the strongest, most beautiful. For being the princess we expected you to be. Mom is proud too, you know.” Anya would say.

“Is she there with you?”

“She sure is.”

“I miss you.”

And she hears the laugh this time, she opens her eyes, and she sees her, it's blurry because her eyes are filled with tears. She doesn't reach out, she doesn't try and touch for she knows the disappointment will be excruciating. Instead, she enjoys the mirage.

“I know, but don't miss me too long, the living still need you.”

She drops her head, but the silhouette doesn't disappear. It stands in front of her, a soft smile that shatters her heart.

“Anya, who will protect me if I fall now that you're gone?” She hates herself for asking. She hates herself for being weak, but under no prying eyes there is no pressure for greatness and she allows the walls to crumble.

“Clarke.”

Her head wipes so fast she thinks she heard bones crack. There is shock in her eyes. There is shock in her heart.

“How do you know of her?”

“I don't. But you do. She's in here with you.” She reaches a hand across her heart; Lexa still doesn't understand.

“How do you know of her?” She repeats, because really, she doesn't know what else to ask.

“I'm in here with you. If you can feel her, I can too.”

“What does it mean, Anya?”

The confusion is overwhelming, she doesn't know what to believe in anymore. Is this a mirage, is this her imagination, a lucid vision of clarity, early on-set demencia?

“Whatever you want it to.”

“That's not very helpful.”

There's this laugh again, and Lexa missed it so much, she might drop to her knees and scream at the gods above for tearing her sister from her.

“I'm not here to be helpful, Lexie,”

“Quit calling me that.”

“You know I won't.”

“Must you be so annoying even after death?”

There's silence. The assertion of the words forces the lightness of the moment to be gone. Lexa wants to claw her eyes out, to swallow the words back and choke on them. She feels like suffocating.

“I'm sorry,”

It echoes in both their mouths, but it does nothing to ease the heaviness of Lexa's heart.

“So what do I do, now?”

“You carry on, you must.”

“Please don't leave again, Anya, I'm not ready for all this. I need you.”

“No you don't. You know what you need.”

The tall figure starts to evaporate, and Lexa trembles. Not again.

“Please,”

“Look for the signs, Lexa.”

The younger brunette closes her eyes, and waits several moments. When she opens them again, Anya is gone, but she's not alone. King Gustus is here, tired eyes and sad smile.

“Father.”

He goes behind her immediately, starts rocking her gently on the swing. Lexa might break down for good, but never in company of her father, never in the company of the King.

“I wasn't expecting to find you here.” He says, deep voice soothing.

“I didn't expect to come.”

The sky is almost fully blue, now, and the day can start. Birds are chirping, weather is warm. Lexa doesn't feel like enjoying the beauty of the moment.

“Do you think about her a lot?”

“All the time.”

“I miss her too.”

It is so striking in honesty that Lexa almost does fall from the swing. The open admission is bold and sensitive.

She stops the slow rocking movement of the swing and let his hands rest on her shoulders. There's a gentle squeeze. The conversation is over, she knows it.

“There's some business that needs attending. I will be travelling out of the castle for a few days. Indra will look after you.”

“I can perfectly look after myself, father.”

“I will put Indra to the task, and you do with that what you want. It will put my mind at ease.”

“Fine, Indra can pretend to look after me.”

He chuckles, warm and tensionless.

“What is this business, father? If it is concerning enough for you to leave the castle, surely it can't mean good things.”

“You let me worry about that. Let's go back.”

No other words are said, and the trip back to the castle is full of silent questionning.

-

Lexa considers wasting her day away. She bids her father goodbye, when he leaves, and retreats to her room. Lost in her head she sits by her large window, looking out at the fields, and, in the far right corner, as clear as the light of day, she sees the stables.

She spends hours daydreaming about nothing in particular but her mind often wanders towards a certain blonde soldier.

Sometimes she sees her walking around with her horse. Her heart beats faster everytime.

When night falls, she's grateful that her father is away and Indra trusts her enough that she can roam the place more freely. She pretends like it's a coincidence that she ends back up at the stables, but she isn't fooling anyone. Especially not Clarke, who smiles knowingly when she sees her enter the large doors of the cold building.

“Princess Lexa, you're here again.”

“I am just Lexa,”

“And here again,” the blonde repeats. The brunette blushes hard.

“Father is gone and I was mildly bored.”

“Are you looking for.. entertainment?” Clarke is confused and dubitative. Surely the princess is not looking for what she thinks she's looking for.

“I am more than capable of entertaining myself.” The blonde nearly chokes at that, her cheeks crimson from the suggestion that she's sure she's mistaken, and it has nothing to do with the imagery in her mind. She tries to push them away, it's wrong and disrecpectful but one can't control their subconscious.

“I have no doubt, pri- Lexa.”

“Maybe I'm looking for.. company?” She's unsure and shy, all over again. Clarke softens, all thoughts of naked body writhing leaving her mind, for the most part anyway. She looks at the young brunette affectionately, admires her courage and honesty. She smiles softly, and it's returned almost intantly.

“I am deeply honoured that you deemed me worthy to keep you company, then,”

For a moment, it's awkward silences and flirty smiles until Clarke speaks again.

“Let me know if you are cold.” She says, resuming her activity, which consists in brushing her horse.

“What's his name?” The brunette asks, reaching a hand to pet the horse gently on his side.

“He doesn't have any.”

“How come?”

“I don't have a good enough idea, I guess. He's just Good Boy to me.” Clarke shrugs, looking at the animal with infinite affection. Lexa finds it endearing. She keeps that information to herself.

“But he needs a name,” she argues, pouting. She has taken a liking to the animal already, his white robe soft and warm under her hand, the gentleness and calm of his presence reassuring.

“Well, does Princess Lexa wish to suggest a name then?” It's teasing and playful and Lexa likes the easy banter, the way it feels natural and unforced. She rarely gets to talk this way with people, always restrained into formal discussions. People are scared to talk to her, even with her closest maid, there is still this hierarchy heaving over them. She doesn't feel that way with Clarke. She feels safe and normal.

She ponders on an idea for a moment. She thinks, long and silent, watching the majestic animal. She rounds him, standing on the opposite side of the horse from Clarke. They exchange a look, and smile; it's hard, Lexa finds, not to smile all the time while looking into blue eyes as deep as the ocean.

“David,” Lexa says, breaking the stretching silence. Clarke frowns while smiling.

“I know I'm nothing exceptionnal, but it's too early for you to forget my name already.” She knows she doesn't mean it, that she is just playing around, it doesn't stop the next words to leave her mouth from sounding serious and deep.

“I would never forget your name,” she holds the soldier's gaze, whose playfulness and humor have disappeared. The silence returns, and Lexa, afraid of the truths it might hold, adds, flustered “I meant, for him, he deserves a name that suits him,” she returns to petting the horse's fur.

Clarke's eyes never leaves her, though, she can feel the piercing gaze trying to read into her soul. “Does it have a particular meaning?”

Lexa smiles gently, looking at the horse with affection, “In several cultures, it means 'beloved',” her eyes return on the blonde. Once again, no one speaks for a few beats of excited hearts.

“It's very suitable, indeed,” Clarke says, “He shall be named David from now on,” it's husky and delicate and Lexa feels warm all over. She carries on with the conversation, hoping to find something to talk about that will make her feel less heated and with a warmth at the pit of her stomach. Honestly, she doesn't know what it means, she isn't sure if she wishes to find out. (But you and I both know she does).

“I always wanted to ride a horse,”

“Don't you already do that? To leave the castle and everything?”

“Well, yes I have on very rare opportunities but I was very young and always with Anya or Father,” she says softly, “I can barely remember it, and after Anya's accident.. I just wish Father would let me ride a horse again.”

Clarke doesn't answer, instead, she turns and gathers what she needs to saddle David. Lexa doesn't notice at first, lost in her thoughts and sorrow, but soon, she hears the movements.

“What are you doing?”

“You father isn't here, now, is he? It appears like you and I are going on a little adventure,”

“It's dark outside!” Lexa all but cries, before adding a little stern, “Plus, you do realize that my father could have you executed for going against him?”

“I'm willing to run the risk if it means I can see that smile on your face again,” Clarke says, only half-joking. She feels it in her bones that she'd be willing to risk far worse for this girl.

“What smile?” she asks, flustered all over again, the admission that the soldier would give her life for something as simple as that leaving her with her chest aching in all the right ways. Clarke only raises her brows purposefully, and, really, Lexa doesn't mean to smile, she doesn't mean to. Except she does, it's bashful and she drops her eyes for a second before lifting them again, looking at the blonde through her lashes.

“This one,” Clarke chuckles softly, and really, it's all she can do not to go kiss the brunette right this instant, “Like I said, your father isn't here, and like _you_ said, it's dark outside, no one will see us,” when Lexa opens her mouth to protest, she adds, “Nothing will happen to you, I will protect you,” she lets another beat pass, then, quietly, firm and purposefully, “With my life.” 

Lexa has no counter argument. Well, she has. There's a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but there's only one that has enough power to make her ignore them: she wants to go. She wants to, she craves to, and the soft determination in Clarke's eyes is entirely too appealing. She also thinks briefly about Anya's words from this morning, and her heart squeeze inside her chest, but she quickly pushes the feeling away.

She nods once, barely perceptible. Clarke's eyes light up, she moves behind her, and guides her hand on the handle of the saddle, gives her soft instructions. When Lexa is ready, she lightly puts her hands on her hips, in a mere attempt to help her climb on top of the animal, but for a second, when contact is made, both freeze, and the princess turns her head slightly, eyes down, cheeks flushed.

Clarke stops breathing for a fleeting second, lost in the feeling of the other's body under her hands, so she closes her eyes, trying to be respectful, not think of other places she'd like to trail those hands in. She can hear the itch in Lexa's breathing, opens her eyes just in time to see her lick her lips, all of which doesn't help her. At all.

The moment is gone, though, when Lexa bends her knees and propels herself, helped by the strong arms of Clarke lifting her, and in one go, she's seated on the horse's back. Once she's made sure the princess is comfortable enough, Clarke tucks her foot in the stirrup, expertly climbs, sitting herself behind the other girl.

Once again, the extreme proximity makes them both pause. Lexa thinks she should be extremely cold, her dress being strapless, her arms, shoulders and collarbones exposed, but she feels overly heated, with Clarke's breath now in her ear.

The blonde snakes her arms around the brunette's body to grab the reins. Tension rises.

“Is this okay?” Lexa hears, a quiet whisper against her skin. She can only nod slightly, having lost the use of her voice completely.

She feels Clarke give the horse a nudge and soon, they're moving, exiting the stables. Before long, though, someone is calling the blonde's name. Lexa's blood turns cold.

They stop, and the princess hangs her head low, knowing it is completely useless, they've been caught.

“Clarke, taking a nice lady on a ri- Oh, Princess Lexa.” Lexa turns her head and sees a young girl, but she's wearing an armor too, seems intimidating and fierce. She bows slightly, clearly taken aback by the royal presence.

“Yes, Octavia, and I trust you to keep that to yourself?” Clarke answers. It's clear that the both of them share some kind of comradry.

“Naturally,” she goes to turn around, but adds, “If I may, your majesty, you shouldn't wander on a horse uncovered,” and it's so stupid that they haven't thought about it, that Lexa almost wants to chastise Clarke for being reckless and forgetful. But really, she's equally at fault. Octavia only laughs. It's the second time that Lexa feels like her title isn't so heavy. She hears the hushed, “Wait there,” and watches Octavia go into another wing of the stables.

“Don't worry, Octavia won't tell, trust me,”

“I do trust you, Clarke,” she says softly, glad that the brunette soldier is returning with a long cape to distract her from the heavy admission she just let past her lips. She accepts the cape with a smile.

“Thank you, soldier, I appreciate your discretion,”

The other girl just nods solemnly and takes a step back, not without sporting a light smirk. She pretends she doesn't notice the way she gives Clarke a thumbs up when they start moving again, and she doesn't feel the blonde shake her head in annoyance.

The cape, however great an idea, prevents her from feeling the warmth of Clarke, the light breath she felt on her neck. She regrets that. She deeply hopes they'll go to a more secluded area so she can take the hood off. Clarke, ever so chilvarous, seems to have the same idea, because she asks “Would you be okay going into the forest with me?” Nobody ever asked her so gently something before, so she accepts, and the ride is silence until they cross edge of the dark forest. 

Somehow, advandcing into the darkness, Lexa feels safe. Clarke's arms are strong and decisive around her. The soft glow of the moon lights the wild vegetations around them, she craves to see it cast on the blonde's face.

“Octavia, she's a soldier, too..” Lexa says in the silence, taking her hood off, leaning slightly into the warmth of the other's body.

“Yes, her and Bellamy. Their mother died so Bellamy, her brother, enrolled in the army. Octavia basically trained alongside him. She was a natural, the king couldn't deny her a place in his ranks,” Clarke explains, her voice is soothing so close to her ear, Lexa is content to just listen.

“I can imagine,” she answers, distractedly. She wonders about the closeness of the two, how Octavia made a comment on Clarke taking 'a nice lady on a ride', wonders if Clarke takes a lot of _ladies_ on horse rides. The idea doesn't please her and she questions the feeling of mild anger that settles somewhere within her. 

“She's the reason I wanted to join the army. She's inspiring. I wanted to follow her example. She made me want to fight for my people.”

Hearing the blonde praise the petite soldier only fuels the feeling. She clenches her jaw, stands a little bit more straight.

“You two seem quite.. close.” She doesn't dare speak more explicitly, the subject being highly prohibited. But her words are sharp and accusatory.

“Have I made Princess Lexa jealous?” Under any other circumstances and heard by any other member of the court, Clarke would probably have her head cut off for saying those words, and she dares laughs, low and smug against the other woman. Lexa's blood boils. However she isn't angered of the audicity of the words, she is angered because she feels _caught_. 

“I am most certainly not.” She answers, too quickly, too rushed, trembling for it to be believable. She feels the need to change the subject of the conversation. “I would appreciate you not refenrencing to my title, please.”

“Why? Aren't you proud of being princess and future Queen?”

“It's not- It should be Anya. The title wasn't mine to be in the first place. It should be Anya.” Lexa answers, not knowing why the words fall so easily from her mouth, why confessions are so simple around Clarke.

“What happened to your sister doesn't make you less deserving,” the soldier states, putting an arm on Lexa's own. It's meant to be comforting, and it's efficient. A little too much. “I think you'll make a stunning queen. Royalty suits you, Lexa.”

“Simplicity suits me best,”

“One doesn't prevent the other,” Clarke argues, and squeezes Lexa's arm once before taking ahold of the reins once again. She waits a beat before whispering, “But you're right, it does suit you.”

They're silent after that, and it's not long before they see the edge of the forest once again. It's getting late and Clarke will not deprive the princess of more sleep than she already did. The latter puts on the hood wordlessly, leaning once again into Clarke's body to enjoy the last moments of warmth before they cross the threshold of the stables.

“Thank you, for the ride,” Lexa says after climbing off the horse with Clarke's help. She smiles. It's soft and grateful.

“Anytime,” it sounds hopeful.

Lexa leans in, silently, and presses a kiss to the blonde's cheeks before taking a few steps back, turning to make her way back to the castle.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she says over her shoulder, casting a last glance at the soldier, who's watching her, flushed and rapt.

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

They sleep deep and peaceful this night, and their hearts never slow down.

-

It becomes a habit. The following night, Lexa returns to the stables after spending the day braiding her hair with Raven, her favorite maid, and, sometimes she likes to think, her friend.

They laugh and talk, enjoying the little bit of freedom that comes when the King is away. Titus is in charge of the castle, but really, he has a soft spot for the girl, him and Indra always covering for her when King Gustus is looking everywhere to find her.

On multiple occasions, Lexa finds herself wanting to tell Raven about Clarke, about how she makes her stomach flutter, how she feels constantly warm and flushed when she's with her, and how her voice sends shivers down her spine. How her heart beats faster when she thinks about her.

She doesn't say anything. She wants Clarke's head attached to that strong body of hers, and she doesn't know to what extents she can trust Raven.

She'll tell her eventually, whatever there is to tell, because, for now, Lexa isn't even sure what it means. She's a princess, she has heard of the tales. Of stories of love and passion, of the prince and princess getting married and having children and a castle, living in peace. Her heart aches when she thinks that she'll soon be married, that it surely won't be to Clarke. She's surprised she isn't already.

Maybe her father is more understanding than she'd think.

When she makes her way to the stables feeling giddy and impatient, when she sees the blonde waiting for her, David saddled already, heart squeezing, she knows: she's infatuated.

They ride to the forest everynight for a week, Octavia on the look out, and each time, Lexa presses a little closer, turns her head a little bit more. They ride a little longer.

-

On the eighth night, Lexa enters the stables light hearted. She smiles softly at the idea of seeing Clarke. The blonde never leaves her thoughts.

However, she's surprised to find her in company of Octavia, they're both saddling horses, seeming in a hurry.

“Clarke?”

The blonde turns to her, eyes appologetic and sad. Lexa doesn't like it one bit.

“Princess,” Octavia greets, makes to leave immediately, taking her horse by his reins to guide him out of the stables. Before she's out, she says, “I'll wait for you outside,”

This sentence alone makes Lexa's hands tremble and fear. The most unsettling feeling bubbles up in her chest. She searches the blonde's eyes for clarification.

“Lexa..”

“Is something wrong?” She asks tentatively, not sure she wants an answer.

“We heard from King Gustus,” Clarke says, careful, “he sent a messenger. War is brewing. That's why he hasn't returned.” She adds, somber and serious. “Our army is not big enough, though, so I am leaving now with Octavia and others to recruit more soldiers around the realm.”

“You're leaving?” She hates the tremors in her voice, she hates the lump in her throat.

“I am,” eyes find the ground, almost ashamed, mostly sorrowful.

“We are to come back here to give them basic training,”

“So you're coming back?” She repeats Clarke's words like she didn't just hear them. She doesn't know how to grasp the reality that she won't be pressed against Clarke's warmth tonight. That the blonde won't tell her she's beautiful under the soft light of the moon, and she won't get to kiss her flushed cheek.

She takes the long steps separating her from the soldier, she hears Octavia calling her, saying they need to go, now. She doesn't want to. Please, stay, she wants to beg. She can't. Because Clarke has a duty to her king, and to their people, like Lexa has a duty to her future throne, to her people too.  _Their_ people. 

“Yes,” But it's not joyful, it's not hopeful. It's defeated. She's coming back only to go again after. Once the training is done, she'll go fight alongside her father. She'll be in the battle field, her life at risk.

Lexa doesn't say anything else, she breathes in, long, hard, prays the tears away. She makes up her mind in a second, the fear didacting her movements.

She leans in, gently, presses her lips the soldier's.

Clarke is surprised, only for a second, before she returns the kiss eagerly, pressing her gloved hands to Lexa's cheeks, wiping the tears she finds there.

The kiss doesn't have the time to deepen, to even last, as Octavia is grabbing Clarke's arm, her horse in the other hand, and all but drags the blonde away from her.

“Be safe,” Lexa watches the wide eyed look on Clarke's face, disbelieving and sorry.

“Wait, wait for me,” she hears as she retreats, turning her back to the blonde, not capable of witnessing the sight of a departing Clarke.

When she goes back to the castle, she yells. At Titus, for not letting her know of her father's situation, for not telling her of his endangered life. She yells at Indra, for no reason at all.

She doesn't yell at Raven. She lets her unbraid her hair in silence, willing the tears to stay hidden.

It fails.

If Raven notices, she doesn't say.

She goes to bed, eyes opened wide, and sleep never finds her.

-

Another week pass, the days drag endlessly. She tries to keep herself occupied, tries to force informations out of Titus, begging to help somehow. He doesn't relent, she's frustrated, desperate, and she misses Clarke.

She roams the castle like she used to before her nightly escapades. She doesn't touch the stones of the cold walls anymore. Instead, the tips of her fingers often finds her lips, as she tries to hold onto the feeling of the soldier's lips on her own.

-

When she hears of Clarke's return, it's all she can do not to run and fling herself at her, begging to hear her voice, to hear that she's okay. She manages to control herself enough to wait hours, perched on her windowsill, eyes fixed on the stables. She sees her in the distance, heart beating faster, and she seems well. Still, she can see the tiredness in her body from here.

They're beginning the training of the hundreds of men they've recruited. They don't have time so everything is rushed.

Lexa slowly makes her way across the castle with Titus in toe, doing her best to feign disinterest, feigning boredom.

When she arrives in the training field, when all eyes are turned on her, she nods her head authoritatively, as best as she can.

“Your princess and I wish to witness the training of the soldier, assuring that everything runs smoothly,” Titus says from next to her. It was his idea but she was too happy to accompany him.

She crosses Clarke's gaze, from across the field, relief washing all over her, yearning to feel her arms again. Lexa watches as everyone bows slightly, reverent and silent. All except for Clarke.

Lexa smiles her way, and the training begins.

Really, Lexa should be worried for Clarke, fighting men twice her size. She should be feeling sad, and worried that Clarke will be going back soon. But watching her move, a sword in hand, armor clad body swifting through the air deftly and graciously, Lexa can't help but notice the appeal. The warm feeling she so greatly missed returns, expanding, and she burns with what she now knows to be _desire_. 

She feels impatient to have the chance to be in Clarke's sole company again, if she even can. When she does, she promises herself, she will make the most of it.

After hours of training, Titus giving orders,surpervising, and annoying Lexa, Bellamy finally sends the soldiers to rest for the night. Sun is beginning to set, and the trip adding to the day of training have them drained. They can't push themselves too much, they need to be in the best of shape to fight in the battle that is upon them.

Bellamy, who seems to be the head of their rank, approaches Titus, Clarke and Octavia on each side of him, as well as a tall, dark and quite handsome man. Lexa's eyes find Clarke's immediately and she watches her with desperation.

“When are you planning on joining King's Gustus' ranks?” Titus asks, looking more at Bellamy than any others.

“Day after tomorrow at the latest,” the taller man answers, and Lexa's heart drops, “sooner if the soldiers are good enough,”

“Very well, no later than this, the King needs you.”

Clarke's eyes never leaves Lexa's, she's barely aware of Titus leaving after that. They stand there, watching each other. Bellamy and the others excuse themselves, leaving them both standing in the middle of the field, seemingly alone. 

“Clarke,” Lexa speaks first, soft and awed.

The blonde just smiles, sincere,  _happy_ . 

“Come to the castle tonight,”

“Lexa-” Clarke cuts, eyes wide.

“Please. Raven will sneak you in. There are too many soldiers now for me to be roaming around.”

The blonde seems to think about it, but Lexa pleads with her eyes and tries to show her how much she  _wants_ Clarke to come. There is no denying what her intentions are, Clarke knows that. 

Finally, she nods, small and unconvinced, but it's there, and Lexa knows that if the soldier gives her her words, she'll be there.

The corner of her mouth lifts. She wants to kiss her again, but not yet. She will wait just a little longer.

-

The night has just fallen when the door to her room opens and she sees Clarke. She looks clean and prepared. She's standing by the door, waiting for Raven to give Lexa a nod before closing the door.

There's heavy silence, and Lexa approaches Clarke, but doesn't stop in front of her, instead, she passes her and goes to the wooden door, locking it. The sound of the lock is loud in the impending silence. Most of all, it's  _eloquent_ . 

Lexa doesn't turn around, rests her hands against that damn door, traces lightly the creaks in it, trying to distract herself from her fastening beating heart. She can feel the thumping in her ears, she can feel the bloop pump in her fingers, and in others parts of her that she doesn't dare think aloud.

They stay like this for long moments, nerves settling, back to back, until Lexa hears footsteps approach. They're slow, and deliberate. When she feels Clarke hover over her, almost pressing into her back but not quite, breathing down her neck, purposefully, more purposefully than all those nights lost in the deep forest, she trembles.

Lexa thinks she will go mad, both from apprehension and yearning. She tries to pace her breathing, taking in big gulfs of air, hoping it'll calm her nerves. But then, Clarke whispers “I missed you,” in her ear, and she sighs, long and relieved.

She turns around, and looks into the almost completely black eyes in front of her. She wastes no more time, and leans in, unraveling at the feeling of the soldier meeting her halfway in a slow kiss. It's hard and gentle at the same time, passionate, and they both inhale sharply at the feeling that is so familiar yet still so new.

They haven't had the time to know each other's mouth, and now, in the privacy of her room, with the night young and theirs, nothing can stop them. It starts soft, firm, until Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa, having certainly no experience in kissing another person, follows the movement, gasping in surprise at the feeling of Clarke's tongue tentatively but expertly licking into her.

She's sure she's supposed to find it weird, but she doesn't. She finds it appealing and she wants more of it. When her tongue finally presses against Clarke's, there's a small whimper that escapes her throat, the action powerful and new, setting her on fire. She grows confident despite her lack of knowledge, but she figures she'll let Clarke guide her, and rely onher instincts, because this feels incredible and their kisses are vibrant and colorful. 

Confidence means that Lexa's hands find the back of Clarke's neck, her shoulders, presses her closer, until their bodies are flush, every parts touching and there's no more space between them. Hands find hips and still in deliberately slow exploring movements, they roam the body underneath them.

If you were there, you would hear the long sighs of contentment, the gasps of shock and arousal, and occasionally the moans of pleasure when tongues meet passionately. You'd see Clarke's body pressing Lexa's against the door gently but firmly, the kiss growing, deepening, neither of them ever caring of breaking it for air. You'd see one of Lexa's leg raise and one of Clarke's hand grab it, only to grind her hips into the brunette's, the kiss only breaking then, allowing Lexa's head to drop against the hard surface of the door, allowing, in turn, Clarke's kisses to trail down a pale neck, across a quickening pulse point.

Clarke isn't fooled, though. And before she's in too deep, before she goes too far, she pulls back slightly, drops Lexa's leg, and waits for the princess to look at her. When she does, she speaks quietly but clearly.

“I assume that you haven't been with anyone. Yet.”

Lexa's heart flutters at the  _yet_ and she has to compose herself from all the emotions she's been having in order to answer. 

“No, as a princess, I mustn't be bedded before marriage,” she notices the way Clarke's face seems to fall at that, “but I have no intention of waiting.”

“Lex-”

“Have you? Been with anyone?” She cuts to avoid the argument.

“Yes,” the argument would have been better.

She does nothing to hide the jealousy in her eyes as they avert, looks at the floor, anywhere but Clarke.

“None of them matter like you do,” she adds softly, and the admission rips through Lexa violently, so much that she can't stop the words forming on her lips. They stumble out of her mouth, humble and confident.

“Bed me,” she states, aloud, staring once again into the bluest eyes.

“I will not get you in trouble. If someone were to find out-”

“I have no concerns for who finds out. Bed me,” she repeats, grabbing the collar of the leathery armor and pulling to get the soldier closer, impossibly closer. “Chances are- This might-” she doesn't find the strength to finish her words, to voice those thoughts, those realities. She pushes them away, and tries to remember the feeling of Clarke's lips on her neck, how good if felt, tries to forget the idea that Clarke might be dead soon. “I am offering myself to you,” she whispers against the other's lips, low and husky and convincing, “Show me what love feels like.”

Clarke has no willpower to argue with that.

They kiss again, hungry and determined. Clarke doesn't waste any time after that, gentle hands grab the back of thighs, and lift. Lexa is in her arms in seconds, easily, her weight light and feathery. There's a gasp, or perhaps two. If there are, they're so synchronized and similar that it'd impossible to tell them apart.

Lexa's hands don't go around Clarke's neck, she's far too fascinated by the feeling of the strong muscles of the biceps she feels through the leather. It makes her burn, thrive, she wants to feel skin, and she's lost on how to ask. She's clueless, and she wants to know so much more about the way Clarke's body would move against hers.

Clarke walks them to the bed, until the back of her knees collide with it, and she sits down, effectively bringing the younger girl with her, until she's straddling her legs. She breaks the kiss and looks up, into green, green eyes, shining with desire, a little fear too.

She drags her hands up a slender back, it's arching underneath her touch, and she reaches for the laces of the dress.

“May I?” It's soft and not too demanding. More for reassurance. Also, Clarke would never undress a girl without asking first.

“Please, indulge me,”

Once again, Clarke is a little unsettled by the confidence in Lexa's voice that contradicts the way the girl is shaking in her hands. But those words, uttered, eyes unwavering, just set her fingers in motion and the laces are delicately pulled. Soon, the white dress opens, Lexa gets up letting it pool at her feet.

Lexa has never been for fancy corsages and complex attires. She'd rather wear a simple white simple dress, tonight, while waiting for the soldier, she thought it would be a good idea to be prepared, not wear anything underneath but a simple white underwear. Looking back now, she feels exposed and ridiculous standing there.

The look in Clarke's eyes, though, is nothing but admirative and awed. Lexa looks so virginal, and ethereal, Clarke can barely believe this girl is hers to have tonight. Of all her affairs, she has never seen something look so purely inviting, innocent but tempting, while so reverently beautiful.

The only thing Clarke can think of doing is taking off the big jacket of her armor, slip to the edge of the bed until she's no longer seated, and press her knee to the floor, looking up with honesty and love.

“You entrance me,” Clarke says, solemn and hoarse. Lexa find truth in her words, and she feels beautiful, only for Clarke. Not like she feels when men praises her beauty, like they have to.

When she tugs at the blonde's hand to get her up, she nearly doesn't feel nervous at all anymore, for she knows Clarke will be gentle and caring. And that she is, as she kisses her carefully. The hunger resumes. Clothes are shed from the soldier's body, fumbling and meaningful.

Once nothing remains, Lexa traces with her fingertips the defined lines of Clarke's body, sharp muscles, generous chest, and she's fascinated by it. She spends long minutes exploring, paying particular attention to the reactions it ellicits. The closing of eyes, deep inhaling, long sighs, muffled groans. She doesn't realize right away that her touches are teasing and torturous, but when she does, she makes a point of remembering exactly what she's doing and stores it for future use.

Clarke, after what feels like hours, finally lays Lexa on the bed, hovering over her, proctective. She kisses away all remning traces of nervourness, discovering every part of her body before settling with her head between her legs. Lexa has clearly no idea what she is going to do, panicked, so she leans on her elbow to look, to ask, but when her mouth opens only a high-pitched sound escapes her, and she's mewling, because she realizes: Clarke's tongue just  _touched_ her  _there_ . And it felt heavenly. She's grateful she listened to Raven's advice and took a bath before the soldier's arrival. 

“Is this okay?” She hears Clarke ask, always gentle. Lexa just nods, closes her eyes, begging in her mind to feel that again, because if this is what love feels like, she wants to be loved for the rest of her life. The feeling returns and it's more insistant, warm and wet and strong. Her mouth falls in a silent scream, disbelieving, her eyes fly open. The sight on blonde hair between her legs attached to a toned and strong body is enough for Lexa to feel overwhelmed.

She feels things she has never imagined she  _could_ be feeling, it's euphoric, maddening. Her arms tense, her hips buck, she grabs what she can, somehow it ends up being Clarke's head. She lives in another world completely, only one word on her lips, as she closes her eyes again, a tightening feeling in the pit of her stomach that she has no idea what it means, but it's building towards something appealing and she wants to know what it is. 

She pleads, as she repeats, “Clarke, Clarke, Clarke,” needing to feel grounded for what is about to happen. When it does, her hips lift completely off the bed and she stills, feeling something snap inside of her and immediately release, reaching some kind of peak. There are waves of pleasure rushing throughout her body and no sound comes out of her, she's stopped breathing, stopped moving, waiting for the tremors to pass.

She collapse on the bed after a few silent moments, Clarke returning to kissing every places she can, until she can hear Lexa's breathing calming.

“How are you feeling, love?” The term of endearment makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time but she's too far hazed to do any of it. She's trapped in pure bliss. Now that she has discovered the love between two bodies, she never wants to let it go.

“Can you- Would you.. do that again?”

“It would be my _pleasure_ ,” Clarke husks against the other's lips, and she shudders. 

“Can I, maybe, if you're willing.. Will you let me do it too?” And she means it, she wants Clarke to experience what she just experienced and even if she's nervous she doesn't know how, she's willing to try her hardest. That'd have to be enough.

“You can do anything you want to me,” Clarke watches the green eyes blacken a little more, she smiles adoringly, “but first, let me take care of you some more.”

And so she does, she doesn't stop loving on Lexa for hours, if only because she can't: she's addicted, she's fascinated, she's  _hers_ . 

When Lexa reciprocates, she's shaking at first, she's clumsy, but under Clarke's soft gaze and reassuring smiles, she learns the way the blonde's body reacts and responds. She comes to appreciate all the ways it makes her buzz to watch Clarke tumble into blissful pleasure. Especially knowing her hands created the sounds she hears, muffled by the soldiers firm thighs around her head.

They doesn't stop until the sun rises and part when absolutely necessary. Their hearts are heavy and Clarke promises she won't leave today. She promises she'll come back at night to share more passion under the midnight hour.

-

Lexa assists at the training once again, and they must leave at dawn, she hears. She tries to ignore the sound of her heart shattering.

She fails.

That evening, when she takes another bath to wait for Clarke, she finally gathers the courage to talk to Raven.

“Do you know of love, Raven?” She asks, quiet, lost in thoughts.

“I think I do, Miss Lexa,”

“Quit calling me miss, please.” She hopes a heart ot heart will make her realize how fondly she thinks of her maid, how she thinks of her as more of a friend. “I think I do too,” 

“Miss Clarke is a very good looking soldier,” the maid answers, voice low and fearful, but also understanding.

“That she is,” Lexa says, sorrow laced in her words, “That she is,” She pauses again, getting out of the bath. “She leaves tomorrow.”

She hates the weakness in her voice, she hates she truth in her words.

“I know, Miss Lexa,” Lexa thinks she sees a shared feeling, and she wonders if Raven too, has fallen in love with misfortune. “If I could, I would tell you that all will be right,” she says, “Unfortunately, I can't.”

“Isn't it a tragedy?”

“It is, Miss Lexa, it really is.” If Lexa sees the tears streaming down Raven's face, she doesn't say. She lets Raven quietly dress her in a simple night gown, because there is no more reason to pretend now, and watches as she slips away to retrieve the blonde soldier.

-

When she enters, they don't speak, they only fall in each other's arms in silence and there is no need for pretense. They undress fairly quickly and fall into bed holding each others.

There are moans and screams at times, the will of making the most of their last night strong. Sometimes they stop to kiss gently, talk briefly, about anything.

“Does Raven know what we are?”

“And what are we?” Lexa asks smiling, leaning back from her straddling position on Clarke's body, naked as the day she was born, watching the soldier lie on the furs. There are hands on her thighs and hips and it makes it hard to focus on how to speak.

The blonde, to answer, follows the brunette in her sitting position and kisses her, pressing close.

“In love,” she says. It sounds like a prayer and Lexa could cry. In fact she does, and the admission is so powerful that she can do nothing but kiss the other girl until the tears subside and she's left with a hunger to show just _how much_ in love she is. 

She pushes Clarke back against the bed, and starts a slow grinding motion, loving the way she's being watched.

“Raven does know, and she knows better than to speak about this. I trust her,” Lexa says, breathing laboured and unfocused. “Does Octavia know you are here?”

“Yes,” Clarke laughs, never taking her eyes away from the goddess on top of her, “In fact, I think she is having an affair with Raven. I wasn't the only one sneaking into the castle”

She doesn't answer, because that would explain a lot, and she just feels for the other girl, knowing that soon, they will share more than laughter and a few secrets. She whises they didn't though, she wishes they wouldn't have to share that.

-

They don't sleep once again, and Clarke feels exhausted. She has a long journey, maybe she'll be able to sneak some hours of sleep on her horse.

They whisper words of love and embrace each others at the door when Clarke has to leave. Lexa almost doesn't let go, she grips and clutches at the armor, she pleads with lips against lips but she knows it: duty comes first. 

She lets her go, finally, watches the other slips through the door, her hand holding on until the very last moment.

They don't say anything. They don't speak.

Lexa doesn't hear Clarke's voice one last time.

-

It feels wrong. It feels wrong and so, Lexa runs to the stables in hopes to find the soldiers departing.

She does, Clarke is ready to climb on her horse, ready to go, just outside the stables, surrounded by the all the soldiers ready to go to war. There are breaths of relief in Lexa's lungs.

“Soldier!” The blonde turns to her, stands by her horse, waits. Lexa is careful not to come too close, not to show affection with anything other than her voice and her eyes. The only person close enough to hear is Octavia, but she doesn't care much if she hears.

“I needed to hear you,”

“Be safe while I'm not here,” Clarke says, “Don't go on midnight rides with anybody else,”

Lexa laughs. It's not even close to sounding joyful.

“I'll wait for you.” She takes only a step forward, craving to feel the warmth, craving to touch again. Again. Please.

“Wish me a good trip?” The blonde asks, as the soldiers surrounding them start to follow Bellamy. Time is running out, it'll be over soon. She prays that the seconds would last longer, that the minutes would expand, that time would stop altogether.

She closes her eyes and thinks of all the things she could wish for Clarke if they can't be together.

“In peace, may you leave the shore,” she starts, softly, there are images of a safe soldier on gentle seas behind her eyelids.

“In love, may you find the next,” there's a wistful hope of a young princess waiting by the docks.

“Safe passage on your travels,” she's crying now, like it's all she can do, the soldiers around her almost all gone, “until our final journey on the ground,”

They're alone now, the other soldiers marching in the direction of the horizon, backs turned to the scenery of pure agony unraveling. Oblivious to the tearing sound that two souls make when they part.

“May we meet again,” Lexa finishes, her ultimate utopic wish voicing itself before she can stop it.

Clarke, taking one final risk, and because she is mostly hidden by her horse, closes the small gap between them, kisses Lexa's lips, hard, lingering. It feels like a farewell.

It is.

“Clarke,” Octavia calls, “It's time,”

They part. Clarke climbs on a brown horse that Lexa doesn't recognize. She reaches for the princess' hand, and when she Lexa gives it, Clarke kisses it with the same gentleness she has shown the first time she tasted her skin.

“I'll come back to you,” she says, as she urges the horse to advance, never letting go of the brunette's hands.

Eventually the contact is lost and Lexa is forced to watch Clarke departing again, knowing full well that this time, she might never return.

-

Lexa, when she goes back to the castle, discovers that David, their white companion, never left for war and she cries all over again, knowing that Clarke left her friend behind so the princess would have something to remember her by. Someone to keep her company.

She makes Titus teach her how to saddle him and ride him. She spends her days roaming the lost forest on his back.

-

It's three weeks later, when she hears news from the war. They won, of course they did. King Gustus is strategic and merciless.

She all but runs to meet the returning army, looking for blonde hair and blue perfection.

All she finds is Octavia, limping and beaten down. She doesn't need to say anything to understand, to break.

She can't grasp at the reality, she can't believe it's true.

Clarke is dead.

Octavia slips something in her hand, there, in the middle of the field, and Lexa doesn't have the strength to look at it, merely because she can't get up from the ground.

Her father carries her to her room and she pleads and begs for him to hold her. He does. She thinks he must've known, because he doesn't question the tears, the screams of agony that breaks her body.

In the middle of the night, she unfolds the piece of paper tucked safely in her hand. It's crumpled and dirty, blood stained.

_Death is not the end, may we meet again._

It's shaky. She imagines Clarke writing it while knowing her time has come. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she did. Maybe the blood stains are hers.

She cries for a week. She starts to pray. She prays every night.

-

She ends up marrying some prince she doesn't care much for. He's respectful and gentle and good. When she closes her eyes at night though, there's golden hair and blue eyes, always.

She still prays.

-

Every morning, before starting her day, she takes David to the swing and cries at the gaping hole. The one where her heart used to be.

Still she prays, for years. She prays for death not to be the end.

Maybe, when her time will come, she can hope to meet her soldier again.

She prays until she gives her dying breath.

-

And thus ends the first tale of my neverending story. Undying love and answered prayers are the first steps of every great tragedy.

 

 


	2. We can never leave, (the past behind).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke doesn't know for the life of her why she risks saying what she says next, but she does.
> 
> “I'll keep yours if you keep mine,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this site keeps eating my second CHAPTER WHY??? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT??? IS IT ME DOING SOMETHING WRONG? Like i ust posted somth and it wasn't there?? Or Is it like a subliminal message that it sucks????!!!! I just can't. If it disappear again then so be it. I give up.

You may think that eternal love is a blessing. In some sense you're right. You might think that eternal love is a curse. Well, you wouldn't be wrong either. Where is the limit, where is the line? Who decides?

It's a fine theory. If given the choice, would you choose to put yourself in that place? Choosing to witness and endure the loss of the other half of yourself over and over, but cherishing the knowledge that there is never a real end to your story. That those violent tragedies are nothing but pauses in the continuation of your fidelity.

Well, there isn't a right answer. Some will choose it this way, some won't. The fact of the matter is that the choice isn't given. The reality of the situation is thrust upon you, and you have no other choice than to accept it.

Clarke and Lexa will come to accept it too. However, for it to be accepted, it has to be realized first.

The realization comes pretty quickly, if you ask me. There's no gentleness to it, it's brutal and unexpected. At first there's misunderstanding, then there's assertion, and finally, acceptance. It comes with the hope. It's laced with despair.

It happens the second time they meet. There's no time to waste, the universe will tell you.

How very ironic.

They don't remember immediately. They're oblivious, not like you and me.

It's barely a few decades later, nearing a century. There's no sense of royalty this time. Clarke and Lexa are two random citizens, as random as one would expect them to be. No burden, no sense of duty. Or so you think.

Clarke has always felt a sense of duty. Granted, it's not always as grand and purposeful as being a leader or part of an army, but it's there and she never denies it. Lexa doesn't either. It's beneath their skin, and might be the only thing equally as powerful as their love for each other.

The young blonde is quite notorious around the realm, not that she wanted it this way. But it happened. She learns to live with it.

Tonight was one of those nights, and the tavern is packed, loud men laughing and singing their lives  away. Clarke hates it, she hates the stench of beer and sweat, the crowded feeling oppressing her. She hates the dress she has to wear, she hates that she has to wear it to please customers. She hates it all, but it's necessary and it makes for a great cover.

She'd rather wear her leather pants and light shirt, but unfortunately, she can't afford anybody to see her dressed like this.

Halfway through the night, the bell of the door rings and she barely hears it over the sound of the festivities. But she does and when she lift her eyes, expecting yet another group of half drunk men, all she sees is a lonely brunette, her green eyes piercing and gentle.

She walks into the room like a gentle breeze of summer and Clarke is rather glad she's working her shift tonight. Their eyes meet briefly across the room and there's a weird feeling in both of their stomachs. They stare at each other for a moment, until the brunette is knocked over by some strangers and the contact is broken.

Clarke tries hard to ignore the shiver that ran through her whole body, tries to pretend it was just the chill air that passed through the door when it opened. For a moment, she forgets that it's the middle of july, that the nights are warm and that the air is everything but chill and cold.

She watches as the brunette takes a seat at a secluded table. She watches as Octavia goes to take her order, and her impulse, she doesn't why, makes her go after her.

“Octavia,” she all but screams as she comes from behind the counter, “will you take the bar, for a bit? I need a change, I'll get that table.”

All she gets for an answer is a knowing look and a smirk, before her friend turns around and goes to slip behind the wooden counter.

She approaches the table with unfamiliar nerves, and when she gets there, she catches the green eyes once again. For what feels like hours, but might actually be only seconds, they stare, silent. She feels like she knows her, yet she wants to discover her.

She tends not to trust strangers. She tends to be wary, and cautious. She doesn't understand why she feels drawn to this woman.

“Hi, can I get you anything?” Finally, she asks with a shaky voice.

Lexa is mute for a moment. She feels it too, the familiarity. She feels the eyes trained on her, and while it would normally make her uncomfortable to be stared at so intently, she can’t help but return it.

“Just a soup, with bread. Please,” it’s small and unsure, Clarke almost feels the need to ask again. She doesn’t, she just enjoys the politeness, nods, offers a smile and turns to the kitchen to prepare it.

She can’t help but pour just a little bit too much soup, and cut two slices of bread instead of one. She doesn’t explain it, not sure if she even wants to, she just does, and hurries  back to the table to deliver the order.

Going back to the table she can’t help but roam her eyes over the awaiting girl. She notices the slight hollow in her cheeks, and wishes she’d have cut a little more bread. It’s in her nature, to worry about people.

She places the order on the table gently, a sincere smile plastered on her face, and almost refuses the money the girl gives her. She accepts it anyway. She goes back to the bar and observes the silent girl eating.

She’s composed, her back straightened, her posture solid and unbent. Her clothes are worn out, it’s clear, but you’d only notice it if you’d pay attention. It’s in little details, some fixed rips here, some holes there, patched up sometimes, left uncared for when not noticeable enough. She cleans up well and would you cross her in the streets, you’d think her a regular young woman. Clarke knows to look for the signs, though. She notices. She notices because she was this girl once, too.

She was the poor girl, holding onto to the only nice clothes she owned to pass the impression that she wasn’t. To pass the impression that she was like everybody else, not willing to need the help of others. Only willing to help herself. Not willing to show weakness. Only willing to show composure and maintenance.

Clarke notices the way she eats too. She doesn’t launch herself at her food, doesn’t plunge her head in the bowl of soup, doesn’t tear at the bread with her teeth. She’s careful and calm, but she closes her eyes a little too long when she inhales the sweet scent of potatoes, looks a little too relieved at the pieces of vegetables she finds. She’s cautious not to spill a single drop, not to waste too much bread making crumbles.

So Clarke watches, fascinated, how this girl, obviously starving, manages to look so laidback and casual eating what she knows to be the best soup in the realm, (she cooked it, mind you). She’s impressed by the control showing in her every move.

She’s stopped in her studying when she realizes the girl has stopped moving, and finding her eyes, catches her looking at her with questioning eyes. She averts her gaze, embarrassed at being caught, and turns to busy herself.

“Hey, Clarke,” Octavia calls, “look at this man over there.” She says gesturing to a lonely man who seems to be a little too wealthy to be eating here. “Think he’ll make a good target?”

She thinks about it for a second, and nods.

“Maybe, definitely worth a try.” She says with a wink and goes over his table.

As fate would want it, he happens to be seated just a table over Lexa’s, his back turned to the brunette. Clarke tries not to let it distract her too much. She needs her focus if she’s going to pull this off.

She spots the man’s purse, loosely tightened to his belt, and thinks it’s going to be far too easy.

She makes a quick work of seducing him, hating every word that falls from her mouth, sitting beside him on the wooden bench and pretending to touch his back, flirting away to distract him. Soon enough, she has the purse in her hand.

Right when she’s about to get up and walk away, she notices green eyes looking at her intently, shifting between blue ones and her hands. She feels guilty, for a second. But then, the tiniest of smirks spreads on plump lips, and she smiles back before kissing the man’s cheek, oblivious to what has happened to him. He's far too drunk anyway. He'll be lucky if he even remember ever being here tomorrow.

She gets up and walks to the bar, where Octavia watches her.

“Check mate,” she whispers,

“Oy, nicely done, Clarkey,” the other waitress smiles big and stashes the purse in a wooden box behind the counter.

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“I wouldn’t dare,”

Clarke smiles and her eyes fall back on Lexa, who has now finished eating. Without thinking, she goes back to the table.

“Do you want anything else?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Clarke, who’s never one to take no for an answer, feels quite generous.

“Come on, anything, on the house,” and, it’s still lost on her to this day why she looks at the man, a few feet away from Lexa.

“You don’t have to,” the girl says, “I won’t say anything.”

“I never said you would,”

“I will still have to refuse your offer.”

Clarke doesn’t know what compels her to push, to hold the brunette’s stare defiantly, and ask “Why?” but she does anyway. There’s just something she can’t place.

“Because I won’t be able to pay for it.” It’s said quietly, laced with shame and decisiveness, but the gaze is threatening and her head is held high, like she refuses to let this truth take away her dignity.

“You don’t have to,” Clarke presses, and watches as the girl hesitates. She doesn’t leave her the time to argue again and grabs the bowl for a refill. She chastises herself for being so insistent. She knows why the girl refused, like she refused pity and charity when she was in her place.

Still she can’t help herself. She pours some still hot soup, carefully picking extra pieces of veggies, and cuts two more slices of bread. When she returns to the table, the girl already has her mouth opened to protest, so she leans in close, and whispers in her ear.

“Consider it a treat from the lovely gentleman over there,” she smirks when she leans back, and turns, once again, relieved when the man in question gets up and leaves, still oblivious that he’s missing something. She lets out a sigh.

When she looks back to see if the brunette is eating, she finds her frozen in place, not having moved an inch, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. What Clarke didn’t realize, was that when she was leaning over Lexa, she gave her a front view of her extensive cleavage, and well, it’s not like Lexa could have stopped herself from looking. It’s not like she wanted to stop herself. However, she didn’t expect to be so affected by the sight and found herself awestruck by the beauty of it all. It didn’t help that the dress Clarke is wearing is designed to compliment those particular assets.

When Lexa shakes herself out of her reverie and finally accepts the extra meal before her, Clarke turns, satisfied, deciding to focus on her work.

“Pretty girl paid for the extra soup?”

Clarke shrugs, “No,” she avoids the pointed look, “But the rich man did.” when her friend laughs she adds, “Too bad he doesn't know how generous he is.”

“Alright, I'll let it pass, because she really is pretty. But don't let Bell know, or I'm dead.”

“As if Bellamy could ever hurt you,”

“I know. But he doesn't know that I know that.” She smirks, serving a beer. “Alright, it's calming down a bit, you can end your shift. Costia and I can manage without you,”

“You're sure? I can stay, I don't mind.”

Octavia frowns, turning to Clarke with a weird look. Then she looks at the seated brunette carefully finishing her bread, and it clicks. She laughs entirely too loud for Clarke's liking. In all the years she worked at the tavern, she has never said she didn't mind working. Sure, she has stayed even when she didn't have to, but she was sure to complain about it. She was upfront with her dislike for the job, even if she loved the family that came with it.

“Oh Lord, that's the first time I’ve heard you say that, what has that girl done to you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” She ignores the laughter, “Fine, my shift is done then.”

Octavia continues laughing, as Clarke goes up her room to change. The great advantage of working here was the home she could call her own. She considers going to sleep right away, but changes into a more chaste dress and goes back downstairs to see if the mysterious brunette is still here.

She is. Of course she is.

Clarke sits across from her, smiling as she says, “I finished my shift, I wanted to know if you.. liked the soup.” She wants to hit herself for sounding so.. not herself.

“Yes, thank you, you didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” She admits, smiling softly. “I'm Clarke.”

“Lexa,” The brunette says, returning the smile. “That was very impressive, what you did tonight.”

“It was nothing,” Clarke mutters, “Comes with the experience,”

“Experience?” The blonde curses herself, knows she told too much, the mere fact that she got caught stealing so deftly, and now the admission, is enough. Lexa is a smart girl, and Clarke's reputation precedes her.

“You're him.” The brunette speaks again, eyes narrowing.

“I'm a girl, thank you very much.”

“Clearly,” Lexa answers dryly. Clarke doesn't miss the way her eyes drift to her cleavage briefly. “You're the thief. What is it they call you? The Shadow?”

“You're delirious. And wrong.”

“Well, you're not really convincing. It's okay, we've all got secrets to hide,” Lexa says looking down at the empty bowl of soup on the table. She tries not to let her shame show.

Clarke doesn't know for the life of her why she risks saying what she says next, but she does.

“I'll keep yours if you keep mine,”

All she gets in return is a gentle smirk that quickly becomes a genuine smile. She doesn't know what to think of the flutter in her chest at the sight of the green eyed beauty smiling in front of her, so she adds, “And I don't know where you've heard anyone calling me that. I don't have a name. I'm mysterious that way.”

Lexa laughs, a full open-mouthed laugh, and Clarke thinks it's the best sound she’s ever heard. She can't help it, she laughs too, if only to cover the sound of her heart beating.

“Why do you do it?” She asks and the laughter is gone, just like that.

“So I can give it to the people who need it most.” She says truthfully. It's not like she needs it, she has a home and a job and it's really enough for her.

She can't handle the look of reverence in Lexa's eyes, she can't handle the feeling of her throat drying and closing.

“Come back tomorrow,” Clarke finally says, standing up. “There'll be food,” She rounds the table and kisses a flushed cheek, lingering far too long. “Goodnight, Lexa,” she whispers, and leaves.

Lexa stops breathing when lips press against her skin. She doesn't move for a full minute and when she turns to catch a final glimpse of the blonde, it's too late. She touches her cheek and whispers words that fall in no one's ears. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

Upstairs, leaning against the door of her room, Clarke finally breathes out, releasing the sweet smell she's been holding inside her lungs to keep the brunette close to her a moment longer.

-

Lexa goes back the next day. She comes in early, sits at the same table and orders only a glass of water.

Clarke comes back with a plate of food and a glass of juice. She offers a smile and doesn't stay to hear Lexa's protest.

She stays until Clarke finishes her shift and they talk until the tavern closes.

Clarke kisses Lexa's cheek and watches the blush creep up the other girl's cheek.

She falls asleep smiling and content.

-

Fate works in mysterious ways. The next night, Lexa comes back but Clarke isn't here. So she doesn't stay.

She roams in the surroundings. It's not like she has anywhere else to go. When she nears the forest, she hears a carriage. It looks royal. It takes her a second to see the silhouette in the trees, in the dark. It takes her less than that to recognize that it's Clarke.

When she sees her jump into the night, landing directly on top of the carriage, she gasps, and her heart leaps in her throat.  

It all happens so fast, and she looks around to see if there are any witnesses but there aren’t. The night is dark, she can't see anything that's happening, and, she knows she shouldn't, but she goes closer, her heart beating.

She hears groans and shuffling, men's voices, but she really can't understand what's happening, and she's scared, she fears for Clarke's life. Really, she should have trusted her more. Hundreds of years laters, Lexa still hasn't forgiven herself for what she does next.

In the confusion, in the unknown, she lets a loud “Clarke,” out of her mouth, and it's all it takes. A second, a distraction. Blue eyes turn to her, and even in the darkness, Lexa can see them, bright and clear and pleading. It's all it takes for her to make a mistake, and she barely has time to catch a bag, punch the man when she normally makes them pass out so they don't follow and run, brushing past Lexa and grabbing her hand on the way.

“Run!” She hears, and so she does, she does run into the forest, Clarke's hand securely in hers while she feels herself being dragged. She runs until her lungs threaten to give out, until her legs scream in agony, and even then she doesn't stop. She feels like crying but she doesn't have the time. It's her fault. It's all her fault. She prays, she prays they'll make it out okay.

She hears men shouting in the distance, they're on their track. They're followed. She knows that if they get caught, it'll be over.

They run for what feels like hours, when it's barely been five minutes, and before she has time to process what's happening, they've stopped.

They've stopped because there's no ground to run on anymore. She looks ahead and what she sees is nothing. They've reached the edge of a small cliff, and when Lexa looks over, she thinks that it's not that high.

“We can make it, let's jump.”

But Clarke doesn't move, she turns Lexa so she has her back to the cliff.

“They'll come after us. They'll jump if they have to. They want me. I'm too big of a prize, they won't let me go.”

Lexa doesn't understand, and Clarke wants to cry. It's over, she's been caught. She can't let them catch Lexa too.

She thrusts the bag full of gold into Lexa's hand and looks at her. There are apologies in her eyes.

“There's no other way, Clarke, we have to jump,”

“You jump, they won't look for you. If they catch me, they won't look for you,”

This is not happening, Lexa thinks, she doesn't want to. With Clarke walking into her life two days ago, she found solace and she's not ready to let that go. Because of her own stupidity.

“I am not leaving you here,”

But Clarke doesn't answer. She just looks at her and grabs the collar of Lexa's jacket. Were you to ask Clarke, she'd tell you that what she does next is to distract the brunette, or  to prevent her from convincing her to go with her. When her lips meets Lexa's, though, she knows that she just couldn't let the girl go without telling her. She has to know, Clarke thinks.

Fate works in mysterious ways, it's true. Who decided that Lexa were to walk in on Clarke thieving? Who decided that it was a good idea to distract her? Who decided that lips on lips was the trigger of their memories? Will we ever know? I don't have all the answers, but what I can tell you is that in this moment, in this brief, single moment, time stopped and past lives connected with new ones.

Clarke, stunned, almost forgot to push against Lexa's shoulders, but an approaching scream reminded her what was happening and she pushed a disbelieving Lexa over the edge, watching her eyes as they remembered at the same time.

The blonde barely registered, a few seconds later, arms around her, dragging her, tying her, gagging her. She can barely hear the guards screaming, people talking. All she can focus on, all she can hear, is a farewell whispered a hundred years ago, carrying through the ages to her ears again.

All she can see behind her eyelids as she closes her eyes, is a white dressed princess holding her hand, kissing her cheek.

She pays little mind to the tears on her face. All she can think about is Lexa.

Lexa, falling over the cliff. She did what she had to do. She did what she had to do.

Lexa, too, doesn't realize she is falling.

She doesn't realize she is falling because as her body floats into the air, she remembers the feeling of Clarke's arm around her body, strong and decisive.

As her body hits the water, hard and cold, she remembers the nights of loving passion, the way the bodies moved together and the softness of Clarke's lips on her own.

When she finally comes up for air, she swims, with all her strength, with all her might. She has to find Clarke.

When she comes out of the water, she screams and screams and screams until her voice is lost in the depth of the void inside her chest.

She hates fate with every fiber of her soul.

-

Lexa goes back to the tavern the next day, in broad daylight, when there's nobody and she's alone with Octavia.

She throws the bag of gold on the counter without one care in the world, and she feels like she'd rather die right now to test out the theory that she might get to see Clarke again.

“Where did you get that?” says Octavia, serious and threatening.

“Clarke gave it to me,” she answers, dry and emotionless, “I don't want it.”

“Clarke is imprisoned because of it,” she pauses, “Because of you,”

“I don't need you to tell me that,” She turns to walk out, she turns because she can't handle to see this place without Clarke.

“They're going to execute her. In two days.”

Lexa freezes. She falls on her knees and feels like taking her own heart out of her chest. She'd scream some more if she had the strength.

She doesn't.

She stays there, clothes still somehow wet and clinging to her body like a prison of her own. She can't close her eyes, because every time she does, she sees the image of Clarke leaving, sorrow in her eyes, on the back of a brown horse. Every time she does, she sees reverent blue eyes looking at her like she's the light that shines upon all of us.

How is it fair? It's not.

“I have a way for you to see her.”

Lexa doesn't answer, she just listens.“Lincoln, he's my.. anyway. He's a guard at the castle. He'll sneak you where they keep her. I was supposed to go, but..”

She doesn't finish her sentence, and Lexa doesn't know how long she stays there, kneeling on the floor trying to process the idea that she got another chance. She got another chance. And it is over already.

-

Clarke lies in her cell that night, she's quiet and accepting. She closes her eyes, she spends all her wasted hours eyes closed to see again. She focuses, trying to recreate the feelings on her skin, trying to engrave green eyes and shy smiles into her brain. She doesn't want to forget this time. If this was to happen again, she wants to remember right away. Please, let her remember right away. Let her keep the memories of a young princess, let her keep her memories of a lost child.

She wants it all. She wants to keep it all.

She doesn't sleep that night, she doesn't sleep at all, too occupied reminiscing.

In the soft hour of the dawn, she hears footsteps, and Lincoln's voice. She hopes, oh, she hopes.

Answered prayers, you all remember, and those of Clarke are. Because when she opens her eyes, she sees green ,and it's not a memory. In seconds she's at the bars of her cell, stretching her arms to reach for the goddess on the other side.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” the brunette all but cries, she presses against the metal and they both curse it, because it's the only thing separating their bodies.

“Don't be,” Clarke says, and grabs Lexa's face through the bars. She pulls, and pulls, until they can steal a kiss. Another, and then another. They kiss until they can't breathe. “I'd do it all over again,”

“What happened to us?” Lexa asks, tight throat and short breath.

“I came back to you,” Clarke smiles, she has to. She can barely believe that she's graced with the sight of her love again.

“You did,” the brunette whispers, voice cracking against Clarke's lips. “You did,”

“I'll find you again, love, I told you once, death is not the end.” The blonde pulls her harder, trying to feel all she can despite the iron prison restraining her. “Feel it, believe it, nothing in this world could keep you away from me. Not even death. You remember that while you wait for me to come back again.”

Lexa doesn't know how to answer to that, she doesn't know how to voice that she doesn't want her to find her again, she wants her now.

She kisses Clarke, long, hard and slow, and she kisses her like it's the last time. It is, it is the last time. So she feels the way lips move delicately against hers, the way Clarke's tongue moves in sync with her own, how it feels like everything she's tasted until now is sour and dull. She enjoys the way Clarke breathes into her mouth, deep. The way she gives her the air that's been inside of her, like she wants to share her deepest secrets. She tries to touch her face, memorize its shape and the way her jaw moves as they kiss. It is the last time. At least for now.

She screams in agony when she feels Lincoln's arms pull her away, hates the way his hand against her mouth is erasing the remnants of Clarke on her lips. So what if she's loud, so what if they hear her. Let them take her, let them put her in that cell with Clarke.

Let them have her.

And as Clarke watches her go, when she returns to wait for her certain death, she allows herself to cry. She allows herself to crumble.

She accepts the fate that is thrust upon her, it doesn't mean she has to enjoy every excruciating second of it. This memory, she tells herself, the image of a devastated Lexa, is not something she wishes to remember the next time they meet.

-

She waits for her death, peaceful and calm. When she closes her eyes for the last time, before they take her life, she smiles.

-

Lexa doesn't go to the execution, she doesn't think she's strong enough to witness that.

She goes back to the edge of the cliff, sits with her legs in the emptiness, and wonders. She wonders and wonders and doesn't pray. She never prays.

-

She takes Clarke's job at the tavern. Octavia is nice enough, and Lincoln understands the pain there is inside of her. He's seen it. She's astounded how Clarke saved her once again, gave her a home and food every night, at the expense of her own life. She remembers the words she said a lifetime ago. _ I will protect you with my life. _

She wonders if maybe someday, she'll be the one protecting Clarke. She vows, she asks, she demands, to let her protect Clarke next time.

She meets Costia. She's nice, and pretty, and not Clarke. But she's nice. And pretty. Gentle, and caring. She's understanding. When she lays with her at night, she hates herself for thinking of blue eyes and blonde hair but there's nothing she can do to prevent it.

She cares deeply for the woman; they both know they will never love each other like that though. They're content to take comfort in each other's arms, and it seems to be enough for the both of them.

Still, she never recovers from the gaping hole inside of her. The emptiness that took over, and now, she misses Clarke twice. She misses her soldier, she misses her thief. She misses her in both lifetimes, and the hollows that were once in her cheeks are now in her eyes. She spends the rest of her life wondering.

She wonders, and wonders.

Lexa wonders what she has done in her past lives to deserve a curse like this.

-   
To every story it’s own agony. You will learn that it's not always the most happy that make for the greatest love story.


	3. Never let me go, (never let me go).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is love the decisive factor here? 
> 
> Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to chapter three, it's a little bit different, it happens on a greater amount of time. It slayed my heart and was really difficult to write and I'm not so sure about it, so if you have any insight you want to share, please do. All your comment are absolutely delightful, I live for them, I love every words you say. Thank you all.

Soulmates. It’s a very abstract idea; one that isn’t really defined, yet asserted by many, idealized by all. 

It entails a certain number of factors. Timing is the first one. The main one. Timing is everything. It has to do with luck, too. Sometimes you don’t have that. Sometimes, you don’t have any of that. You miss the chance; you’re the victim of circumstances and context. What do you do then? You fight, if you have the strength. If you have the will. 

Will-does it still exist in such a concept? Do you still have a choice, in who you love and fight for? 

How does it all work? Can you still claim to be in control of your decisions? Sure, you choose each other the very first time. Clarke and Lexa did, at least. They did choose each other, and have fallen victims to the tragedy of their story. 

Would they still have chosen differently? And now, would they still choose each other without the knowledge of fate hovering over them? 

Is love the decisive factor here? 

Maybe.

-

The next time Clarke and Lexa meet, they almost don’t remember at all until the very last moment. 

You won’t miss the irony; as this life is, up until now, one of the longest they shared together. 

They meet young. Queen Abby and King Jake are ruling peacefully over a calm and happy realm. Clarke is the princess, the heiress. 

Lexa grows up in the castle too. They meet young. They’re friends, the best you’ve ever known. 

“I’m going to be Queen someday,” a young Clarke tells Lexa, after the latter is finished with her guard training. “And you’ll be the best guard at the castle; you’ll watch over me. That way, we’ll always be together.” 

Ten year old Lexa doesn’t quite understand why her heart beats so fast at the idea, why it feels like more than the sense of duty filling her chest in agony. 

She vows to herself to always look after Clarke, the petite blonde that climbs trees and runs wild in corn fields, while the brunette trails behind, twirling branches and sticks in the air; already eager to fight off anyone who threatens the blonde beauty. 

Abby and Jake let them wander off, they don’t worry. Why would they? As the years pass, they come to trust the fierce look in the young guard-to-be. 

-

Clarke laughs and is happy, she doesn’t expect the responsibilities. Doesn’t consider the heavy burdens of being heiress. It comes crashing down on her one morning, when Queen Abby sets her up to meet a young prince, and tells her he is hers to marry. 

“Prince Finn is a very suitable husband for you, he’ll take over the throne and become king of the Kingdom of Arkadia.” 

“I don’t understand,” Clarke croaks, her throat dry. “I am to be.. wed?” 

Abby looks apologetic for a second. But she’s firm. Final. 

“I don’t want to marry him, Lexa,” Clarke tells her, at night. They’re fifteen and young but already, Clarke feels far too old. She wants to feel young again, she wants to feel like she’s free again. “I don’t want to be his.”

“You won’t.” Lexa holds her hands, holds her body, sheds her tears. 

When Clarke looks at her questioningly, she smiles softly and just says, “You’re your own first,” when Clarke returns her smile, she adds, “And you’re mine before you’re his. You’re my best friend,” 

The words are supposed to be soothing, and comforting, but they’re like a stab through the heart, and still, they don’t understand why. 

She cries in Lexa’s arms that night, she doesn’t understand the queasy feeling in her chest when she screams in misery. 

Lexa holds her with a sorrow she can’t put into words. It’s silly, they both know. It was to be expected. Still, they don’t know how to explain why this idea is crushing their hearts, and they both won’t admit it. 

-

Clarke meets Prince Finn for the first time in late July, the sun is warm and the light is bright. He doesn’t look half bad. He calls her Princess and whispers that she looks beautiful in the gleaming rays of sunshine. It makes her smile for a second only before she sees a brooding Lexa training with Indra in the distance. She still smiles, but Finn’s comment has nothing to do with that. 

She should start to question herself but she wouldn’t know for what. Still, still, she doesn’t understand. 

Then again, she doesn’t really try to. 

“Finn is a nice man,” she tells a seventeen years old Lexa, “He’ll be a good King.” 

The brunette is braiding her hair, doing them up. Clarke will be married this afternoon. She doesn’t explain the sinking feeling in her stomach. Not too sure she wants to. 

“Will he make a good husband?” She tries to ignore the sorrow in her tone. 

“Time will tell,” 

“Will you love him more than me?” She doesn’t try this time. It’s pleading and hurting and everything she’s feeling inside. 

Maybe she understands more than she says. 

“I couldn’t if I tried,” it’s soft. It’s both reassuring and painful. It feels oddly familiar in Lexa’s ears. It feels like a promise for something she hasn’t asked for but yearns anyway. 

She waits and waits for words to leave her mouth, but they never come. She tries to find the meaning. She tries to understand more. 

She watches from a distance the union of Prince Finn and Princess Clarke. 

Clarke looks surreal in her dress, majestic and mystical. She realizes with a stark feeling the sentiment of desire. 

It blurs with the one of pain and jealousy. She learns this day all that is love and the real meaning behind her earlier words. 

Her heart breaks at the realization that Clarke might have misunderstood it. 

She doesn’t try and stop the hope though.  

-

Clarke learns over the years that love and marriage don’t come in the same package. She tries, tries hard to love King Finn. He’s good and generous, gentle. He cares for her, but it’s just not there. She lies with him and wishes she could go back to running through the fields in a light dress and a lean guard at her side. 

She pretends like she doesn’t see the look of longing in Lexa’s eyes when they’re wandering together, going on long strides, standing in official meetings. She pretends like she doesn’t know Lexa can see it her eyes too. 

Lexa’s presence feels like salvation, her gaze feels like the sin she needs redemption for. 

Clarke understands it for the first time when she learns the news. 

“I am with child,” she says, quiet and with tears in her eyes. If asked, she’ll say that they’re tears of joy. Of course, she’s happy. She loves the child already. But she finds herself hoping he’d have green eyes and prominent cheekbones. She finds herself hoping that her child will look more like Lexa and less like Finn. 

That’s when she understands that she loves Lexa the way she’s supposed to love the king. When she sees the look of confusion and pain and wishes she could soothe it away. 

“Clarke,” there’s a smile at the corner of Lexa’s mouth. It conveys everything but happiness. “I’m delighted with the news.” 

“Lying is not your strong suit.” 

Silence. Heavy and tangible, tension sharp. Breaths are heard, calm but deep, the need for air grand. 

“Why would I be lying?”

“Do not ask questions you already have the answer to.” 

Another silence. This one stretches, extends, lasts. It lasts while Lexa brushes her fingers against Clarke’s cheeks. Apologetic. It lasts while she turns on her heels and walks away, afraid of the truth. 

It feels like two admissions of guilt neither are ready to do penance for. 

The silence lasts days. The looks last months. 

Clarke is eighteen, married to a man she doesn’t love and pregnant. 

Lexa is eighteen, in love with her best friend and queen. 

Is love the decisive factor, or is it timing?

\- 

Lexa is there when Finn isn’t. She helps her through morning sickness, brings her food for her cravings, holds her hand when she gives birth. She talks and prays and tells Clarke she’s doing great. That she’s amazing. 

For a minute there, she almost believes the child is theirs, that when the baby boy expels his first scream, she’ll get to pick him up and cradle him. 

She doesn’t. 

King Finn arrives shortly and she leaves. She leaves head hung low, heart heavy and broken. 

She waits at the door, like her duty dictates her to do, and wills herself not to hear the conversation in the room. 

“It’s a boy,” Clarke’s tired voice rasps out. 

“An heir,” A pause, then, “Did you pick a name for him?”

“Don’t you want to name him after you?” 

“No, you choose my Queen,” Lexa knows there’s a smile on the man’s lips and her heart breaks even more knowing that he’s a nice man, that he’s a nice king and husband. Clarke should love him. She should. There’s an uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach when she realizes that Clarke probably doesn’t. 

“Aden,” the queen mumbles, and Lexa can almost see her eyes closed, the tiredness too evident, “Let’s name him Aden.” 

“Prince Aden, then.”

When he leaves the room, he stops before Lexa. 

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” 

“Thank you, Lexa. You’ve been good, looking after her. Will you still? I have to go and inform the court, prepare for the celebration. We have an heir,” 

“I will,” 

He smiles warmly, and she doesn’t find the strength to hate him for being the one to hold Clarke at night. 

She hates herself for holding countless other girls she knows are not blonde with blue eyes. She lies with women that aren’t Clarke and feels guilty despite the fact that she knows she shouldn’t. 

When she goes back into the room, Clarke is fast asleep, so she sits next to the bed and watches her, sweaty and exhausted, deep in slumber. She holds her hand, her heart squeezing at the same time as Clarke’s hand in hers. 

She falls asleep, too. Comforted by the blonde’s even breaths and peaceful presence. The soft cries of baby Aden being cleaned not far away. 

In this frozen moment in time, she pretends her life is not the same. She pretends Clarke is not Queen, she pretends the church would allow them to be married. She pretends like she’s a fierce king protecting her sleeping queen. For a moment, she pretends that the world allows her love to be enough. 

-

Years pass and Finn, content with having an heir, spends less and less time with Clarke. She can’t exactly say she minds. Well, she does. She doesn’t love him, it’s true, but she cares for him, he’s the father of her child, and she  _ cares. _

The upside is that she spends more time with Lexa. The brunette has been assigned to their personal security and that just works perfectly. 

At first, he spends a night or two away. She doesn’t question it but she doesn’t fool herself thinking he’s just up doing business. She knows times are peaceful. She knows there are no pressing matters, so she doesn’t try and convince herself that he’s doing anything other than spending the night with other women. 

So she just quietly spends her night alone waiting. It’s just a couple nights at first. 

“Did the king leave you alone in your bed again last night?” Lexa asks her one day, while watching a two year old Aden run around in the corn field. It reminds her of so many things and she feels old despite her being barely twenty. 

“He did.” 

“How surprising.” She’s bitter and won’t try to hide it. If Clarke was in her bed, she’d never want to leave. She’s angry that she seeks the company of women to forget she can’t have Clarke’s, and Finn seeks it to avoid having Clarke’s. She fails to see the fairness in all of it. That’s when she begins to resent the king. 

“Lexa... “ 

“He shouldn’t leave you alone,” she says, softer,  “I hate that you’re alone.” 

“I’m not,” Clarke smiles, and they both understand. 

After a minute of silence, Clarke continues. 

“Won’t you marry someone too, eventually?” 

“I won’t marry a man.” 

“Why not?” 

Lexa gives her a pointed look. 

“You know I won’t lie with one.” 

Clarke smiles again, if only because it gives her hope. Then she doesn’t smile anymore because it reminds her that Lexa is not waiting for her, she can’t, and she tries to ignore the jealousy at the knowledge that Lexa has company every night while she’s alone in her bed. 

“Would you marry a girl if you could?” It’s tentative and shy. 

Lexa thinks hard about it for a moment, because the answer is yes. Of course, she’d marry Clarke, over and over. She’d marry her in a hundred lifetimes. If only she knew. But she doesn’t, not yet. 

So she says, “No,” because she knows she can’t marry Clarke in this one, and really, if she can’t marry her, she can’t marry anyone else. 

“Why’s that?” 

“My duty is to you.” 

Clarke looks at her when she asks, “Is that all there is?” 

Lexa returns the look purposefully when she answers, “No, of course not.” 

In the loneliness of the moment, they allow themselves a moment of weakness, and their hands reach out to one another. They hold on for dear life, they hold on to each other like it’ll solve it all. 

It doesn’t. 

-

They don’t ever say they love each other. Another year passes and Aden grows and they just know. They don’t say it because it’d be too real. But they know and they accept it, and they say it in other ways. Maybe sometimes they pretend like they don’t. 

The longing looks are still there but they hide them far less than before. If only for the fact that they don’t have to. Finn is always busy, sometimes he takes Aden, sometimes he doesn’t, but he always seems like he has some important things to do. Matters to take care of, strangers’ beds to occupy. Clarke’s bed is cold and empty, she doesn’t wish for Finn to warm it, and longs for a presence she knows she can’t have. 

Lexa stops bedding so many girls. If only for the fact that they all remind her that none of them are Clarke and it’s pointless to try and pretend anymore.

-

One day, one fateful day, Clarke decides to be brave. She decides to be strong and allow her heart some relief. She aches for Lexa’s touch, she aches for her love, she aches for the freedom. 

So she grants herself. She’s bold and courageous when she takes the brunette’s hand at night. She escorted her to her chambers, like always, ready to bid her goodnight, when Clarke had tugged her hand for her to follow in the dark, empty room. 

Now, she stands in the room, alone with the guard, door locked, heavy truths and deep secrets running wild in the silence around them. 

“Would you keep me company tonight?” 

The looks are nervous, heated, not ready. 

“What kind of company do you want me to be?” 

The unsureness in her voice is undermined by lust. She knows what she’s asking. Clarke knows too. She has waited for this far too long; she has waited for this all her life.

So she doesn’t answer with words. It’s not necessary. Tonight, she’s tired of words. Tonight, she’s a woman of actions. 

Lexa’s jaw drops in the same motion as Clarke’s dress. The soft fabric hitting the floor loudly, not as loud as Lexa’s heart. It’s wild and restless against her ribcage. It pounds, and pounds, and pounds, the sound is like music to Clarke’s ears. She can hear it; she can hear it in her chest too. 

She stands there and waits for Lexa to decide. To make a move. To accept her, like she has accepted the truth in her heart. 

But Lexa doesn’t move, she stands there, mouth opened, hands trembling. Breath short, disbelieving. Stunned. 

She rakes her eyes over Clarke’s naked figure, the sight setting fire to her skin. She’s frozen. 

And the blonde is not worried. She sees the lust, she sees the desire. She’s not self-conscious, because under Lexa’s gaze, she feels godly. She feels unreal and maybe she is. Maybe this moment only exists for the both of them, in this room. 

So she waits, patiently, desired and desiring. She waits until finally, Lexa takes a step towards her, then another, and another. 

Standing face to face, sharing the air they breathe, Clarke waits still. Their eyes close, their breaths mingle. Heads tilt, bodies lean against one another. Tension fills the room, the castle, the universe. Everything in life stands still in the moment where lips haven’t yet met lips. 

Clarke grows impatient; she’s  _ hungry _ for Lexa. But the brunette doesn’t relent; she puts both her hands on Clarke’s face to prevent her from leaning forward. She hovers her mouth over the blonde’s. She inhales Clarke’s scent, Clarke’s air,  _ Clarke _ . 

“Let me crave you” Lexa purrs into her, “Just for a moment,” she adds. 

Clarke’s hands grip the brunette’s wrists, her nails leaving half-moon prints on pale skin. They trail a path on the length of forearms. 

“Let me crave you,” it’s whispered, lust-filled. “One last time,”

Clarke trembles under her fingers, her brows are furrowed, her eyes closed. She waits again, and she’s tired of waiting, but she wills herself, only because she knows: this  _ is _ the last time she won’t know the feeling of Lexa’s mouth on her. 

They don’t know how long they stand there, unmoving, anticipating. 

Their bodies are already touching, heat is radiating off of both of them. 

“Lexa,” Clarke all but moans. It’s pleading, pleading, and demanding and desperate. 

So Lexa indulges, and presses her lips oh so slowly to Clarke’s. The feeling is something they couldn’t describe. It feels like a rainy summer afternoon, hot and heavy. It’s not sweet, though it’s chaste at first. But it’s intense, and passionate. Slow, slow, so very slow, Clarke thinks she might die from relief and want.

They gasp, because it feels like coming home, it feels like breathing again, it feels like they’ve just been born again. 

They part in silence, lock their gazes and Clarke undresses Lexa without a word. She doesn’t want to break the tension, she doesn’t want to break the moment. So she just takes Lexa’s clothes off one by one, until they’re both lying, naked. Lexa rests her forehead on Clarke’s, trailing her fingers lightly over the other woman’s stomach, ribs, chest. 

“You feel familiar.” The guard whispers in her mouth, “You feel so new, yet so familiar,” 

While she talks, her hand trails lower, slips between Clarke’s legs and touches her for the first time. For the first time, she’s glad for all the bodies she’s touched before, for she knows she’ll be able to give Clarke what she wants. 

The blonde’s moan is the first reaction, sends shudders down both their bodies. It all feels relieving. 

“I suppose we got as familiar as we could,” the queen says with a chuckle she didn’t know she could handle. 

“Let me show you how familiar I can be.” 

And from there, the only way Clarke can use her voice is through pants and moans and chants of Lexa’s name. The guard touches her, enters her, loves her a million different ways, and she might cry from how good it feels. She understands once again the feeling of familiarity, the feeling of safety, while it’s new and fresh and yet another discovery. 

“I feel like I could discover you forever,” Clarke says after she catches her breath, “I feel like I could learn you over and over again.” She kisses her, breathes her, wants to worship her. 

“Discover me, then,” 

So she does, over and over, and they discover each other all night long. 

The first light of the new day forces them to part and they kiss each other in the remaining darkness, full and passionate. The kisses are a promise, not only of love, but a promise that this is not the last time they will get to appreciate each other’s company. 

\- 

It happens almost every night. Lexa joins Clarke after the sun has set, they love each other in the dark, and when light returns, Lexa departs. They only sleep after the sun has risen. 

Finn doesn’t even hide his affairs anymore, although it’s a unique affair now. Clarke learns her name is Raven, and she’s far too beautiful for Clarke to hate her. 

“Do you love her?” She asks the king one morning, the feeling of Lexa’s fingers inside her fresh and insistent, so she doesn’t feel jealous one bit. She doesn’t even seem to care. 

“You’re my queen, you know I love you,” It feels genuine and he has the decency to look guilty, but she knows the creases between his brows. 

“But you love her more than me,” 

“Would you hold it against me?” 

“No, we didn’t choose each other,” 

They don't look at each other and part ways, for a second, Clarke thinks that she can have her affair with Lexa in peace. 

She’s wrong. 

\- 

Lexa’s favourite part of this whole affair is the kisses they sneak in the corners of the castle. It’s dangerous and reckless and could lead to unspeakable consequences, but she likes danger. 

They’re known to stay careful, always try to be smart but their infatuation is strong, the desire powerful. They’re still young, it still feels new. 

Clarke daydreams all day about the things Lexa can do to her, and Lexa stands in her guard’s attire all day, patiently waiting for Clarke to take it off of her. 

One night, though, after months of sneaking around, being consumed by want, they’re exhausted and their kisses are lazy, their clothes aren’t shed. 

“I missed you, today,” 

“I’m here,” Lexa answers in the crook of Clarke’s neck. 

She rolls to put the blonde on top of her, but they’re weak and the motion stops midway, resulting in them lying side by side, faces close, breaths mixing. 

“I want you,” Clarke says, eyes closed and drifting off. 

“I want you, too,” 

They smile through the tiredness because they both need each other to know. Clarke blames her next words on the exhaustion. 

“If I say I love you, will you say you love me too?” 

There’s a pause where Clarke thinks that the other woman is asleep. She’s almost gone too when she hears, “Speak and you shall see,” 

“I love you,” 

Lexa is glad that the blonde’s eyes are closed and hers too, so she allows a smile, follows by a kiss. It’s slow and lazy, mouths glide against each other. 

“I love you, too,” 

They fall asleep after that, holding each other close, clutching each other’s clothes. 

The words feel grand and despite the lightness of the moment, it feels like both the curse and the blessing they don’t know they’re caught in. 

They feel it in their bones, that this is more than what it is, but they can’t explain the feeling of completeness. The ineffable feeling of fulfilment. They just accept it, and vow to keep the other as close as they can. 

The night is young and sleep is fresh, so they make the most of it and they don’t forget to wake up in the middle of it to show each other just how deep the love runs. 

\- 

It lasts for years, Aden is 8 and starting to train to be a warrior. Lexa trains him when they spend the afternoons together with Clarke. 

Those are Clarke’s favourite moments, she almost feels like they can be a family. 

Some nights, Finn stays with her. She wills herself not to feel disappointed. She thinks he’s worried about her, and guilty that he’s leaving her to herself. She wants to tell him that she’s not alone, she wants to say that she too, loves someone else and they can carry on like this until the very end. 

She’s not sure of his reaction though. She’s not sure he’d accept it like she has accepted it. He’s the king, and Lexa’s a woman. Everything about the situation is wrong and unfair and she fears that he wouldn’t understand. 

“You’re still my Queen,” he whispers against her skin when he’s authoritative, aggressive and possessive, all those things that make her believe that he would not share her despite her having to share him. 

“You’re still mine,” It’s selfish. Clarke wants to say that she’s her own, that she’s Lexa’s but she doesn’t. 

Lexa is quick to right his wrong though, and loves a fragile Clarke tenderly each following night he visits her. 

-

One day, Clarke is 28, almost happy, when Raven approaches her, careful. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Whatever for?” 

She examines the girl carefully. She’s beautiful, she looks fierce. She holds herself straight, holds the queen’s gaze. 

“You know what for,” to the girl’s credit, she doesn’t falter when she speaks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I love him.” 

“Why are you talking to me about the king?” 

“I don’t want to be anybody’s mistress.” It’s defiant, still careful. Clarke really doesn’t how to take it. What it means. 

“But you are.” 

The girl purses her lips, doesn’t answer. 

“You can have him,” 

“As long as you’re here, he can’t be mine.” It’s provocative, despite the girl dropping her eyes to the ground. “Not like I want him.” 

Clarke considers the words carefully before answering. She still can’t decipher the message behind the words. What started as an apology ended up sounding like a threat. How, how did it turn into this? 

“It’s not like I can go anywhere, now, can I?” 

She starts to leave and doesn’t miss the “maybe you can,” muttered to her back, but she doesn’t comment. She’s sure it’s just jealousy talking, when really, she doesn’t understand why the girl would feel jealous in the first place. 

Clarke’s too naïve to know. She’s too naïve to suspect. 

\- 

The Queen tries not to let Raven’s words affect her but they do.  _ Maybe you can.  _ Can she? This is her kingdom, she grew up here, this is her parent’s legacy. Can she just abandon it? Leave it in the hands of a man she’s beginning to despise? 

She thinks and thinks and thinks. 

She’s torn, because staying would mean being faithful to her people, and leaving would be a chance at a real life with Lexa. A life of freedom. 

Then again, there’s Aden. Would she take him? The king wouldn’t allow it. He’d search the entire lands for him. But she just couldn’t abandon him. 

She talks about it with Lexa one night, a few days later, when the questioning cannot be contained in her head anymore. 

“What would you say about..” She pauses, because she doesn’t know how to ask. “What would you say about running away?” 

“You want me to leave?” 

Clarke doesn’t miss the look of hurt in the brunette’s eyes. 

“Yes,” she smiles, “but you don’t get it. I want to go with you.” 

“What do you mean? You want to run away together?” 

“Nights with you are not enough, I want all of it, I want days, I don’t want the burden of the crown anymore. I don’t want Finn coming in my chambers anymore, asserting what little power he has left over me.” 

Lexa frowns, she gets it. She wants more too. She wants it all with Clarke. But she can’t delude herself into thinking that it’s feasible. 

“I want you, I just want you,” 

“What about Aden?” The brunette starts, her armour suddenly heavy, as heavy as her heart. 

“We’ll take him.” Clarke says, she makes up her mind right there, right then. She wants to go, the idea far too enticing. She feels like this is their chance, like she’d miss something if she doesn’t take it. 

“We can’t, and you know that.” 

“Please,” Clarke continues. She doesn’t notice the tears spilling onto her cheeks but they’re here and Lexa sees them. Her heart breaks. It breaks, heavy still. 

They’re in the cornfield, Aden is running, and it feels like they’d come full circle. Those cornfields, those damn cornfields. 

“Please, just come with me. I can’t live with only half of you.” 

“I won’t run the risk. I won’t tempt fate.” The word in her mouth feels too much like a death sentence. She takes a step towards Clarke, pressing her hands to her face. It’s dangerous, she shouldn’t do this but right now, she can’t think past the enormity of what Clarke is asking. 

“I’ll gladly accept whatever I can get, if it means we can live like this another ten years. What if we get caught? What if he finds us? What if we can’t fend for ourselves?” 

“What if we can make it?” 

Without thinking, Lexa kisses Clarke. She doesn’t think. She doesn’t think someone might be watching. She doesn’t think they’re not safe in this place. This is their place. Their safe place. Tonight, it’s not so safe anymore. 

“The chances are too slim to risk what we have. Let’s just accept that this is us. Let’s just accept that this is what we have. Let’s enjoy it. Every night, I get to come to your room, I get to kiss you, I get to touch you, I get to love you. It’s in the darkness, and I wish I could love you for all to see, but it’s already more than I could have ever hoped for. I won’t jeopardize it. I won’t ask for more. Let’s not be greedy, love.” 

Lexa kisses her again before stepping away, away from the inviting warmth, from temptation. 

“But I love you.” 

“And I love you too,” There’s a tear in Lexa’s eyes when she adds, “Let’s pretend it’s enough,” 

Clarke nods but doesn’t stop the tears. There’s not enough hope and too much despair in the words. 

Maybe love isn’t the decisive factor after all. 

Even in ignorance they feel doomed. 

\- 

Looking back, Lexa thinks they should’ve run away. 

The alternative would’ve been better. Because she doesn’t get another night with Clarke. She doesn’t get one, and she doesn’t get to say goodbye, to kiss her one last time before they take her, lock her up in a dark cell where she can’t even see her own shadow. 

She understands perfectly where it all went wrong and for the first time, she’s tired of understanding. 

She’s tired of understanding the things of life and knowing that this is her fault that she’s here. 

So it’s over. 

Yes, she thinks. They should’ve run away. 

-

Clarke doesn’t realize right away. 

All she sees is Raven in the throne room, avoiding her gaze. She doesn’t see Finn but she hears him. He’s yelling and yelling until he sees her. 

Then he’s calm and scary and threatening. 

“You,” he snarls, anger dripping from his voice. “You thought you could just..” 

She’s tired, and knows she’s done for. There’s no point in trying to deny it. 

“Obviously you thought you could too,” 

“ _ You  _ are  _ my  _ Queen.” 

“No I’m not,” she counters and everything in her is so done with everything. She just wants it to be over with. Let them lock her up. 

“Yes you are,” his voice raises, “And your precious guard will be dead by morning.” 

She falls to her knees and wonders why she didn’t fight any harder to get Lexa to go. Why she brought up the subject to begin with. 

“Do not delude yourself into thinking it makes me anymore yours.” 

His face is red, veins popping up. Raven looks guilty, she looks caught. She looks sorry. Well, sorry won’t save her now. 

“Is that so?” Clarke doesn’t let her gaze waver when she looks in his eyes with defiance. “In that case, if you can’t be mine, you can’t be anybody’s.” 

“What do you mean?" 

“If you’re so intent on being with her, you can be with her until death.” 

She doesn’t have the strength to answer. Maybe this is a better alternative. But she’s surprised he’d do that, she’s surprised. Raven, too, seems surprised. Like she didn’t expect this, like her weak attempt at stealing her throne wouldn’t mean it would cost two people’s lives. 

She thinks of Aden, wonders if Finn will let her say goodbye. 

He doesn’t. 

\- 

Clarke is thrown in a cell but the duration of her stay is so short she doesn’t even realize it. She thinks of Lexa, of her stupidity. She thinks she wants to hug Aden one last time. She thinks about how she won’t ever watch him grow, be a king, be a man. She hopes he will remember her kindness, and not his father’s cruelty. When the time comes, she hopes he’ll be a good king. 

The sun is barely rising when she climbs the steps to the guillotine. 

She has a hood on her face and doesn’t see Lexa until the very last moment, when they lift it to show her face to the crowd. She’s facing her. Their eyes find each others immediately, and something happens. 

Fate. They tempted it. Didn’t they? 

The fact of the matter is that cruelty doesn’t stop at Finn’s decisions. 

Their eyes meet and memories flow. They flow in their minds, and Clarke can barely hear Lexa’s scream of despair. 

Because she hears, she hears a prayer, whispered to her centuries ago, she hears Lexa’s cry for her to live, she hears her laugh, she hears  _ Indulge me,  _ and  _ May we meet again  _ and  _ Goodnight, Soldier.  _

She wants to laugh, to cry, to scream, to breathe again. How? How? Their eyes never unlock, their gazes never untouch. 

“Not again,” she hears Lexa say, and she sounds young, younger than she is. She sounds weak and different. 

“Death is not the end,” She shouts, and people will always think it’s a vague attempt at making history, but they both know, when their eyes are still bound, they both know that it’s only meant for their story. 

Clarke is not sure what is the purpose of this curse, what is the meaning of this blessing. That’s three times now she had the chance to love Lexa. Three times something went wrong. Is it her fault, this time around? Was it ever anyone’s fault? She doesn’t know. 

As her body is lowered, speeches are shouted, she thinks about all the times she got to touch Lexa’s body. 

She looks at her for a second more. She doesn’t cry like Lexa does. She just accepts it, once more. Lexa is unbelieving. Untrusting. She knows. She knows. Clarke hates the fact that she was always the first to go. 

_ I love you _ , she mouths, making sure Lexa sees it. She has to let her know one last time before they go. She has to let her know that this is a truth that did and will transcend ages. 

This time she’s sure, they’ll meet again. She closes her eyes, serene and unwilling to witness when they take her lover’s life. They take Clarke’s seconds before though, so she can hear the torture in her lover’s voice. Her heart has the time to break one last time. 

Lexa doesn’t close her eyes, and despises herself forever for the image in her head.

-

Maybe, the artistry resides in the fact that not only they’re bound to meet for eternity, but also, choose one another when the choice is given. Maybe the beauty is in the taken opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I love all your comments, they're greatly appreciated, don't hesitate! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I love writing it.


	4. You can't choose what stays, (and what fades away).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been almost a year since I updated this story, and I'm deeply sorry for the lack of updates. All your comments gave me life and I just couldn't leave this piece unfinished. I'm getting back into writing so there's a chance of more content other than this story. However, this one is planned and almost everything is decided. Next chapter is already planned out, and as you can see it's only two chapters left before the grand finale. And brace yourselves it's going to be epicly epic. 
> 
> Before you start reading, I must warn you, the death can be a triggering for certain of you, so if you feel doubtful please be careful. I went a little bit in details. Not about the death itself but more about the general reactions and feelings about it. It was painful to write. So, please don't hurt yourselves, and be safe. 
> 
> Edit: SO I accidentally deleted the chapter while I was editing the mistakes so I'm re-uploading it, sorry for the inconvenience and being such a klutz. 
> 
> Without futher ado: Chapter 4.

They don't meet each other for centuries after that. Ironic twists of fate, missed chances, and revolutions got in their way, preventing them to meet again. 

They witness wars and illness, the fall of monarchy with an aching feeling of uncompleteness, lives after lives, always searching for something that just doesn't seem there. Sometimes they have flashes, so tangible, almost like memories of things they've never lived, dreams as vivid as the present, but never enough. Never enough to make them remember, and never enough to make them meet. 

When it happens again, streets are paved, streets have names and buildings start to blossom, cities start to grow. The world seems to keep expanding and lives too. It's the middle of the 19th century, life has a new kind of quality that Lexa enjoys. 

It's a soft spring day, the sun is low in the sky, the day ending. It was a good day. Her career is starting to flourish and if she's honest with herself, it's easy to forget the unfamiliar feeling in her chest sometimes. She's a writer. She writes poetry and it's a challenge everyday. It's a challenge to go against society, to go against the code, to fight for the right to be heard. But Lexa has never been one to back down from a challenge. She's a fighter. She might even say she enjoys it sometimes, if it wasn't all so unfair. 

But she's persistent and talented so it pays off. Today particularly, she had a meeting with a publishing house, and it went well. So Lexa feels light, she feels proud. 

She walks hurriedly in the streets of the growing city, enjoying the warmth of the last rays of the sun, ready to take on the rest of her life. She's about to cross the street, the distant sound of horses making music in her ears when she spots a young blonde on the other side of the road. She's rather beautiful, she finds, at the arm of an older man with the softest eyes. 

She's much too focused on the blue ones to notice anything else when they start walking toward each other, time seems to slow down. They keep walking until they cross paths, their shoulders brushing, bumping into each other, and Lexa feels a spark hit her. 

She's frozen on the spot, back turned, standing on the other side of that fateful street, when she falls on her knees. 

All at once, she's a princess, a lost child, a guard. She remembers three deaths and three lives and then three more. The ones of Clarke. 

She feels like screaming, laughing, crying. She feels like running away, but this is all too much and she's weak, her knees hurt. She revels in the fact that she felt just know the warmth of Clarke against her and is too scared to turn around to see if the blonde remembers too. How ironic would it be if she didn't? 

But Clarke is not there with her, and maybe she just went on with her day, oblivious to the mystical discovery Lexa just made. Then again, Lexa too, cannot bring herself to check if Clarke's still there beside her. She's terrified. 

If only it was just because Clarke might not remember. 

It's not long before people start to ask her if she's alright, kneeling there, silent tears leaving her eyes despite herself. She wants to ask them if they ever had so much pain inside of them that they couldn't breathe, but she just can't talk. So she just nods and gets back up, shaking, trying. 

Slowly, because she doesn't know how else, she turns, fears gripping at her heart. 

She was wrong to doubt life and fate, she finds, because Clarke is more beautiful than ever when she gives a small laugh from the other side of the street. Lexa doesn't know what to do, how to act. If she should run and kiss her, or wait, and watch her until the earth would die. The man besides Clarke just looks concerned, he's asking questions, doesn't understand, but Clarke pays him no mind. She just laughs and laughs with tears in her eyes, and , God, Lexa almost forgot how deep the blue of her eyes reaches for her soul. 

So she walks and time stands still. Everything around them moves so fast but everything for them just slows. They don't register people passing by, they don't hear the voices, they don't see the faces, and Clarke waits patiently until Lexa reaches her, smile unwavering. 

“Clarke, honey, talk to me?” The gentleman says beside her when Lexa can hear, turning to her, “Do you know her?” He asks again because he'd be blind if he hadn't notice who Clarke was looking at. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

It's all Lexa can do not to kiss her on the spot. But there are people around, so he just keeps waiting for Clarke to speak again, for that husky gentle voice to steal her heart again. “Lexa is.. She's an old friend.” It seems to put the man at ease a little because his shoulders relax a bit, and he looks upon Lexa expectantly. 

But Lexa doesn't see him, and she's not sure she'll ever see anything else but the blue of Clarke's eyes. 

“Yes, I'm Lexa, it's very nice to meet you.” She answers, extending her hand to him but her gaze never turning. 

“Likewise. I'm Jake, Clarke's father. You don't look familiar, Clarke, honey, where did you say you know her from again?” It's not overly suspicious but Lexa hears the protectiveness. She forgives it. 

“I didn't.” A pause, then, “It's a long story.. Can I tell you about it later? Can I catch up with Lexa?” It's Clarke that breaks eye contact first when she turns to her father, and he could never deny her anything, so he just smiles and hug her before biding them goodbye, knowing that he'll have a lot of questions later. 

None of them dares to speak for long moments. They bathe in each other's sight, baffled to be even able to look at each other again. They don't know what to do for the simple fact that they want to do so much, and say so much, that it all gets stuck somewhere. 

“I found you,” Clarke says eventually, just above a whisper, awe laced with relief. 

“I have a room not far. Come with me.” 

Clarke barely nods, and when Lexa starts walking she smiles, remembering another time Lexa asked her to her chambers. It's so wildly enchanting to be re-living that feeling that she almost doesn't believe it, as they climb the stairs of the small modest building up to the fifth floor, to a small but decent looking room. 

Lexa enters first, leaving Clarke at the door. But Clarke is overwhelmed and she doesn't move, so she stays there, facing the hard piece of wood. She remembers a time when the positions had been reversed, when Lexa had been waiting with her back on her, facing the wooden door of a royal castle. She remembers the symbolic click the lock made, what it meant, so with a turn of her wirst, she makes the one in front her resonate in the silent room. 

She smiles when she hears the footsteps of the brunette behind her, she soft breath so close to her hear, and a whisper so relieving she thinks she'll cry again. 

“I missed you,” 

So Clarke turns around and finally, finally, kisses Lexa. Their mouths find each other effortlessly, like they always belonged, like they're home. 

The feeling is so utterly refreshing yet burning, it lights endless sparkles behind their eyelids. 

They fall into a passionnate embrace, one they have waited for relentlessly, most of the time without knowing. They try to make their bodies collide, pull each other closer, closer, impossibly closer. They try to merge in the hope that they would never part again. 

They touch what they can, they kiss each other more. Lexa's hands find their way to Clarke's face, she wants to remember Clarke with every part of her body. She traces her features with so much purpose, so much rage. Everyting they feel is raw and unprecedented, like they only now realize that this is real. Like they only now start to believe. 

Clarke grabs the collar of Lexa's coat, pulls at it, doesn't know where she wants her hands to go next. She wants to plead but she doesn't even know what for. “Touch me,” she whispers against Lexa's open mouthed kisses.

Suddenly they burn, Clarke wants to consume Lexa. There's this wildfire inside her chest that's been burning for centuries. She needs to feel everything they couldn't feel before, she needs to remember all the ways Lexa loves her and Lexa just cannot wait to ignite the thousand fires she finds beneath the pale skin of Clarke's neck. 

Just like a moment before, time seems to stop altogether when Lexa pulls back just an inch, just enough to look into her lover's eyes before pulling at the laces of Clarke's dress. There's no urgency in her movements but Clarke can feel the determination. She's shaking too, she notices, although it doesn't keep her hands from being steady and efficient. They never stop looking at each other with the same fierce wonder. 

The only sound in the room next is the heavy breathing they seem to share and the soft thud of the dress hiting the wooden floor. 

Clarke watches the turmoil in Lexa's eyes, and Lexa ponders on whether she wants to rip away the rest of their clothes, never waste a second more, but she realizes that despite her memories, despite her knowing Clarke's body, despite all the things she remembers how to do, she still has the privilege to discover Clarke all over again. 

For another first time, she can slowly relearn every creases, trace new skin, unveil all the things Clarke will allow her to see. 

So Lexa kisses Clarke again, slow release and silent revelations, pushes her backward until her knees touch the bed, and together, they fall. 

Instantly, their legs tangle, their breaths mingle, their hearts collide. In reverant silence they undress each other, heartbeat fastening, hands trembling, and when it's over, they take it all in once again. Lexa takes the time to slowly kiss down Clarke's throat, and from here every bit of skin she can find. 

She intends on committing every last detail of Carke to memory, from the silky feeling of her against her mouth, to the ragged breaths coming out of her each time she comes closer to where Clarke wants her. Lexa kisses her for so long, though, that she fails to notice the look of agony on the blonde's face, the small whimpers beginning to turn pleading. 

“Lexa,” Clarke exhales, urging her on, “please.” 

It's so very new for her to see Clarke like this, ready for abandon in the brunette's arms, with no real threat of being caught, no burden. With nothing preventing them from loving each other. It's only when she looks up that she notices the furrowed brows, the bitten lip, the quickening heaving of Clarke's chest, her hands gripping the bars of the headboard, the reddening in her cheeks. 

“Impatience looks becoming on you, Clarke” Lexa whispers against Clarke's mouth with a grin, and without waiting for an answer, she kisses her way back down, smiling internally at how the tables have turned. She takes one last breath before kissing Clarke once, chastely, before closing her eyes, opening her mouth and gliding her tongue against her, relieved and burning. 

Clarke's moan, she's sure, will alert neighbors, but she's too busy to care. Clarke's hips are rising, bucking, her whole body trembling. She tastes so heavenly Lexa doesn't think she'll ever be able to stop, she's sure she'll die from lack of oxygen, but she'll be damned if she ever take her mouth off Clarke. 

It's all too intense for both of them, entrancing even, that each of them reaches out at the same time, and their hands tangle and link, needing the grounding reassurance that they're still living in this universe. That they're still sharing this moment. Both promising the other to never let go. 

Lexa's other hand, when it's not keeping Clarke's hips steady, trails all over Clarke's body, feeling the softness. She's still in no rush to end this, she still wants to make it last. Her tongue is steady but slow, it's savoring. She sucks and pulls and tastes, scraping her nails against the skin of Clarke's hipbone with passion. 

She feels Clarke's heels on her back, the muscles of her thighs shielding her on each side of her face. Lexa has never found a better place on earth than between Clarke's legs in four hundred years of existance. 

She listens and Clarke is a mess of broken moans, broken pleas and broken breaths. 

Clarke has never felt this good. Clarke has never lived this hard. She realizes she will never feel plain happiness quite like she's feeling now. She wonders if it's possible at all. 

When she feels the sweet and not so familiar pull of release, she prays it last, transcend time and ages. She wants to remember this feeling forever, despite it not having happened yet. 

She doesn't expect it to be so intense, she feels waves and waves of warmth and she shakes. She's like paralyzed with pleasure, with an unknown feeling pulling at her heart. In a second she's taken back to all the times she kissed Lexa, all the times she loved her, and yet they each didn't feel like this time around. It's like every time, Lexa is new.

It takes her a full minute to open her eyes, unaware of her surrounding, but when she does the first thing she sees is green. Half-drunk from ecstasy, she stares with wonder at Lexa, so different from the princess she met all this time ago, yet still so fiercely Lexa. 

“I love you,” she whispers because she can, because she has to. “I love you so much,” she repeats, tears at the corners of her eyes. 

Bathed in the small pink and fading light, they kiss and they cry. Clarke pushes off the bed, tries to pull Lexa closer, their naked bodies wrapping around each other until they're sitting, and any space left between them disappears. Arms closed behind backs and shoulders, trying to tear at each other's skin, trying to get inside. 

“I thought I had lost you forever,” Lexa whispers, her voice strong but not unwavering. Clarke kisses her, tries to soothe the leftover pain. 

“I thought I'd never see you again,” Clarke kisses her again. Kisses down her neck, gentle. Lexa drops her head on Clarke's shoulder and stares out the window. 

“You know, I never thought it would happen another time. I didn't think I would get to touch you again, kiss you again.” a pause, then, “I have been missing you so much.” 

“I've missed you too, Lexa,” Clarke whispers while she drops kisses on a naked shoulder. At that, Lexa pulls back and looks at the blonde with pain in her eyes. 

“No, you haven't.” 

Clarke doesn't understand how she can say something like this when they've been waiting for each other for decades. And Lexa ins't sure she's strong enough to keep on talking, but she needs Clarke to understand the sorrow in her heart. 

“You left. All three times I had the chance to love you, you died. You have no idea what it's like to live life without you around. You always leave.” 

Clarke wants to answer, wants to deny but the words get stuck in her mouth and she can only listen. Lexa doesn't sound angry, though. She doesn't sound remorseful. Just sad. 

“Missing you was the worst. Not knowing if I was ever going to see you again. And it's been years, and years. Decades. Lives. I felt lucky to die with you last time, lucky I didn't have to suffer through another life without you.”

Her voice cracks a little but she swallows, tries to keep the raging feelings at bay. 

“I'm scared to love you, for it always means you'll die on me.” 

Clarke kisses her hard and strong, this time, to stop her from saying anything else. 

“I'm here, I'm here now.” And Lexa breaks at that. She doesn't say anything else and sobs quietly, forehead pressed to Clarke's, hands gripping at her shoulders to keep her from disappearing, to keep her here a little longer. 

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'm not leaving you this time.” 

Clarke kisses her again to calm the tears, to calm the war inside Lexa. She knows it's true, she knows she always goes first. She does't know what it's like to endure the loneliness, the agonizing feeling of being cut in two. 

So the blonde kisses away the ache, she kisses away the bitter aftertaste. 

“I'm here.” She says again against her skin, “And I love you,” she adds, pushing Lexa on her back. The night is young, their love, too. Their love, she finds, never ages, only grows. 

With Lexa on her back, watching her with unshed devotion, despite everything, she's reminded how strong all the losses made her. She searches her face and discovers in her eyes all the scars she left behind. She feels guilty they're here but they only make her more beautiful. It was all worth it, she tells herself, as she drops kisses on her cheeks. They're here now. 

She intends on taking advantage of it, and kisses Lexa again, more forcefully. Everything intensifies. Lexa's hands are on her back, pressing into her skin, so Clarke slips her leg between hers. Their kisses deepen, it's all tongue and teeth. Lexa bites Clarke's bottom lip and draws out a moan. She's so different from the first time they ever made love. She's nothing like the shy princess she took to bed for the first time. Her body is more firm, defined. Angular. 

She's stronger, but softer too. Her movements are more controlled when she bucks her hips into Clarke's leg, her breathing is calmer, despite being irregular. Her hands shake a little less. Clarke can't help but find it enticing. She still seems to lose her mind when Clarke slips two fingers inside her, though. She still lets out the same small whimpers. 

But instead of desperately trying to make sense of what she's feeling, she knows what she wants. She wants to unravel underneath Clarke and let her consume her. She allows herself to get lost in the moment, almost like she's scared it'll never happen again. Almost like she wants to make the most of it. 

Everything for her is uncertain, full of tainted memories. 

When she comes, tears welling up inside her eyes, she tries to forget they're cursed. 

She catches her breath and lets herself get pushed back into reality by the small kisses Clarke is leaving all over her face. They stay like this for long minutes, until Clarke lets herself fall on the matress. When Lexa looks at her, there's a strange look on her face. The silence is heavy and crushing. But Clarke's hand is still touching her, filling her heart with a glimmer of hope, nonetheless. 

“We are the star-crossed lovers.” Lexa says, sheets pooling at her waist. Her eyes shine, a flicker of light reflecting on her. Yellow skin glows under tender hands that trace promises. 

“It's a blessing.”

“It feels like a curse.” 

“Look at this this way : Every time life chooses to take me away, life also decides to always put me back in your way. I will always find you. And that, for me, is a blessing.” Clarke looks into deep forest green. Her heart aches with the thought of leaving Lexa once again, but she doesn't show. She can't help but hate herself for being the catharsis of Lexa's pain. 

“How?” 

“Because I will always get to experience the discovery of your heart. Whether I do it knowingly, or without the memories, I will get to love you. I will get to touch you. For one night, for one week, for one year. And you will get to see me, you'll get to be there, in my arms and in my soul. Don't you see?” 

She kisses her, because she has to. She has to make her see. That they're here, now. Despite the odds, despite logic. They remember that the story starts somewhere, somehow, again and again. 

“What am I supposed to see?” 

Clarke climbs on top of Lexa once again, straddling her. It's such a sight to see, that Lexa almost forgets everything.

“I'm in everything you do. You may not realize it, but I'm in every word that leaves your lips, every breath that's born inside your lungs. I'm created within you and travel inside of you to finally die on your lips. I'm in every choice you make. I'm your reason, I'm your impulse. I'm everything that you are, and you're everything that I am. You're my strength, every ounce of bravery that I have shown in every lifetime. We are the star-crossed lovers. We are in every truths that this world holds. And there is one truth that belongs to us, and us only.” 

“What is it?” Tears are streaming on reddened cheeks. Voice trembles, breaths are ragged, throats closing. The feelings inside her chest are mixed up, confused, and giant. 

“Death is not the end.” 

“Promise me. Come back to me.” 

“I do, I will, always.” She kisses her hard, and doesn't stop until morning comes. There is no time to loose. Clarke's words, however true, don't erase the fear of loss. 

They kiss and kiss and love for the remainder of the night. It's all passionate declarations but for a long moment there, none of them talk anymore. There is no more time to waste on words. They show each other and Clarke tries to erase the bad taste in her mouth, the iron melancholy of letting Lexa down. Of having to tend to wounds she created. It's not her fault, right? She didn't decide to die. She didn't choose this either, did she? 

She wonders why Lexa can't see that they're lucky. How beautiful it is that they can love each other through time. So all the loss, all the longing, it's all worth isn't it? It has to be. 

-

When the softening light of day emerges from behind the buildings, and neither of them have slept yet, Clarke surprises herself with thoughts of a peaceful life with Lexa, where no king, no army and no war will get them apart from each other. This is it, this time. She's sure. 

“I'm scared,” Lexa whispers in the quiet of the room, “I'm scared to close my eyes, I'm scared you won't be there when I wake up.” 

Clarke's heart breaks another time, and she vows to herself to never hurt Lexa that way again. 

“I'm sorry,” she says back. “Will you forgive me for making you feel this way?” 

“It's not your fault,” 

“But it is, you said it.” 

“No, it's not. I don't understand this thing that's happening. I don't understand why it chose us, why it's so cruel, but so beautiful at the same time. I can't make sense of it, but you were right. Earlier. What you said is true. You always found me.” 

“I did, didn't I?” 

“Yeah..” she pauses, “Maybe someday, you and I can have the life we want.” 

The ghost of a smile passes upon Clarke's face, and she whispers a small “I hope so.” before closing her eyes. 

“Go to sleep, now. I promise I'll be there when you wake up.” 

Lexa smiles despite herself, and can't help but pull Clarke closer, their foreheads touching, their legs tangled, and their hearts synchronized. She falls asleep smiling. Wonders if maybe, maybe Clarke's right. With Clarke's breathing on her neck, her arms around her, she wonders if maybe all of this is a blessing. 

\- 

When she wakes up a few hours later, she's tired and her whole body is aching but it's such a sweet relief to remember the reason, that she can't bring herself to care. She's overwhelmed when she finds a blonde mess next to her, her promise unbroken. 

There's no threat looming over them, and Lexa wants to believe. 

She gets dressed slowly, enjoys the late morning sun through the window. She decides to go outside, buy the newspaper, something to eat for both of them. Start to enjoy this new peaceful life that she'll rediscover with Clarke. Everything's so different, she finds, from her previous lives. Everything's so beautiful and light. 

She's striken to realize that this time around, she can learn to love Clarke in peace. 

She smiles with glee at all the new matieral she has, to write new things. All the things she whises to say to Clarke, about Clarke, for Clarke. Clarke, Clarke. 

Everything is about her now, isn't it? 

It's surprising yet unsurprising how easily she gets drawn back into the blonde. 

So she gets a piece of paper to inform Clarke of her whereabouts, and kisses the sleeping beauty on her bed. 

“I'll see you later, my love.” But the blonde is in the deepest and most satisfying sleep so she doesn't wake up, and that's okay because they have their someday. 

When she makes her way downstairs, she smiles. When she crosses her street to the park, she smiles. She smiles all the way to the bookstore, where she picks up a book of poems she thinks Clarke might like. She'll read her some when she wakes up or maybe tonight before they fall asleep. 

She stops to pick-up some flowers from the kid who sells them, in front of the bakery. He smiles at her knowingly and they chat for a few moments. 

Fate. Isn't that the worst word ever? 

Lexa never really understood the logic behind it all. If fate wanted them to reunite, then why did fate made Lexa enter the bakery at this precise moment in time? Lexa never really got the answer. 

Because a few minutes before, and she could have had the life she deserves. If she hadn't picked up the book for Clarke, or talked with the flower boy. But she did, it's this moment, and when she walks in the bakery, the lady's smile when she greets her turn into a scream of horror. She turns around to understand, and there are two men with knives and bags. She knows nothing good will come out of this. Nothing good ever came out of any choices she made. (She knows it's not true but the proof has yet to be shown so honestly, she has a hard time believing otherwise.) 

Really, it all could have turned out fine but it's Lexa, and she's a soldier before she's anything else, she's a priness and she's a thief. She's never been one to answer to submission. So when one of them presses a knife to her throat to keep her from running, she snaps. 

She's grateful for her memories, for all her years of thieving and fighting wars. She escapes the deathly grip the man has on her, she tries to fight, she does good, but her dress is smothering and her body is out of shape. She remembers the moves but it's like her body isnt' willing to comply. 

It really goes down to nothing. A misstep. Just a second of nothingness and the blade makes its way through. It's cold and steely. She feels it in more ways than one, and for a moment she wants to laugh at the irony. 

She doesn't though, because blood is making its way up her throat, she feels it in her lungs, she's choking. She falls to her knees, looks at her body. The knife is gone, there's only blood and the slightest tingle in her stomach. 

When she falls face first on the floor, she thinks of Clarke expecting her. She wonders if she's awake. She wonders if she would have liked the flowers, if lilies are still her favorite. She smiles when she remembers why she has this knowledge. For the rest of the world, Clarke and Lexa met hours ago, but for them, it's been forever already. 

In her last breaths, she whispers, “May we meet again,” and closes her eyes to let the darkness take her. 

When she closes her eyes for the last time, Lexa doesn't sigh in relief to be the first to go. She's mad and angry to leave Clarke behind. She'd rather be the one to live and suffer. But it doesn't happen this way this time, and she makes a vow in her head. 

In her last moment, she lets the curse embrace her. She accepts it. She understands. Clarke was right, and with her last thoughts, she promises to find Clarke next time. She vows herself to try until they make it work. She vow to find Clarke and make themselves forget all those terrible hours of emptiness.

She smiles, and then she's gone. 

-

When Clarke wakes up, it's shielded by ignorance. 

She's beaming, stretching, and when she turns there's a piece of paper where Lexa was laying just hours before. 

She reaches for it, smile still intact. 

_Clarke,_

_I'll be back before you know I'm gone._

_Wait for me._

_Love,  
Lexa._

She hums in contentment, and gets up. Doesn't bother dressing, guessing Lexa will make quick work of underssing her again when she gets back. She goes around the room, observe the environment in which Lexa exists. She tries to get a sense of what her life is. There are bookshelves, a small desk. She finds jewelry, it looks expensive but not outrageous. She grazes it with her fingers and wonders if it has touched Lexa's skin in the same way she has. It's beautiful, just like Lexa. One of them is a golden necklace, and it's connected by an infinite sign. In the middle of it is a green stone. Clarke is sure Lexa looks mesmerizing with it around her neck. 

She finds books. Some of them even have Lexa's name on the cover and she's amazed by her words. She opens them and go across the pages, quickly. Sometimes she stops to read a poem. Engrossed in a world that knew Lexa before she did. She reads pages and pages, sitting on the floor of the empty room, sheet pooled at the waist. 

She reads so much that she doesn't realize how long it's been since Lexa's gone. There's a gut wrenching feeling at the pit of her stomach and she's scared. She's scared of going outside and risking missing Lexa, she's scared of going outside and finding out something she doesn't want to. 

She goes anyway because she knows something's wrong the minute she realises it's been hours. 

Once she's outside, her heart stops because there's commotion in the streets near the building and it can't mean anything good. It doens't mean anything good, right? 

With careful steps, she goes to the center of attention. 

When she gets there, there are white sheets on the floor covering something but they're tainted, just like the lives she has lived. She feels sick and everything's red. She tries to go to one of them, she wants to check, she wants to laugh because it's not Lexa and how stupid could she be for thinking it is, right? It's not possible. But is it? 

“Miss, you can't approach the scene,” a man in uniform tells Clarke, his arm raising gently in front of her, indeed preventing her to get through. 

“But I have to see.. I have to know why Lexa's late..” she talks but she doesn't speak. Her words are empy and elsewhere, her mind, too. It's reeling, her eyes focused on the white sheet, and lord, is it her or does it look like the shape of Lexa's nose? She wouldn't be able to recognize it, she reasons. It's absurd, the idea that Lexa would be under there. Simply unbelievable. 

“What did you say?” A lady a few feet over asks, making her way towards her. 

So Clarke repeats, “Lexa didn't come back, but it's absurd right? It would be absurd, for sure..” and then she finalle looks at the woman. “Right?” 

It's so pleading that she almost pities herself, but she doesn't have time for that. 

“Did you know her?” And really, the fact that she uses past tense when forming that sentense is indicating enough to Clarke but she will accept no other truth than the one where Lexa's alive. 

“I've known her forever..”, Clarke says because it's the only thing she remembers now. But as she looks at this woman she notices so many details that are nothing good. How she looks like Lexa, how she knows her and she's here. How her eyes are red and swollen and her voice is raspy and hoarse, like she's sick. Maybe she is? 

Clare is stalling. She's stalling because she doesn't want the answer. Not anymore. She doesn't want to know. Please. 

But the woman looks at her with a sadness that she doesn't recognize, then looks over at the lying body underneath the sheet. Tears start to fall again and it's all clear. 

“No..” Clarke says, and her stomach is tied up, her throat is so small it's hard to make way for the oxygen. How is she supposed to have oxygen anyway when Lexa isn't there to provide it? How is she supposed to breathe now, survive? 

“No, no, no, no,” she repeats, louder, louder, so much louder than the last time in hopes that it will change something. But the woman is still crying and she's trying to says something but Clarke's done listening, does't even know if she has the ability anymore, she wants to run to Lexa, she wants to see for herself. 

She tries to run past the officer, wants to throw herself at her. He's quick to catch her, tells her to stay in place, and the lady beside her just wraps her arms around Clarke from behind and holds her there, in place, while Clarke continues to scream and shout at the universe to defy her again. This is a sad moment in history and everyone notices. Even the officer's hard looks are broken. Everyone's eyes are on Clarke, but she feels like no one sees her. She feels like no one will notice her, and like no one's look will make her feel alive like the green of Lexa's eyes. 

“PLEASE,” she asks, but she doesn't know why exactly. 

Suddenly, there's not enough air in her lungs, there's not enough of everything, and she suffocates. Everthing's blury until it's black, and the last thing she sees before she passes out is the bouquet of lilies beside Lexa. 

-

It's dark when she comes to, and she's back on Lexa's bed. For a fleeting moment, she thinks it's been a sick dream, a torturous piece of her imagination, that Lexa will be there soon. But she's fully clothed and it's dark. 

She lets the fantasy fade and escape her inside the tears that fall from her eyes. When they open she sees that woman. She looks somber and worn down. 

“I'm Anya.” It's firm but soft nonetheless. 

“Why did you bring me back here?” 

“I didn't know where else to take you after you fainted,” she pauses. Her eyes find the floor. She's grieving, just like Clarke, “I'm sorry.” 

“How did you know Lexa?” Her name feels bitter on her tongue. It feels wrong to say it into the void. 

“I'm her sister.” 

“Well, that's something new,” Clarke mutters to herself. She knew that people they were connected to could reappear. But being related seemed unlikely. Then again maybe not that much. She wonders if Anya remembers anything about falling from a horse or an ancient castle in the middle of nowhere. If she remembers that she had been Lexa's sister before. She doesn't dare ask, for she's scared of the answer. 

“How do you know her?” Anya asks suspiciously. It's only fair. 

“I.. I don't.. It's a long story.” 

“Well, I guess I have time now.” 

Clarke contemplates telling her everything right there on the spot just to get her story out but she doesn't feel remotely good about voicing out loud this tragedy. 

“You woudn't understand.” 

And with that, she gets up to leave. When she's almost at the door, Anya catches her arm. She doesn't turn around. 

“I know the kind of company Lexa liked to enjoy. I don't even want to question the nature of your encounters with her but I can see that you cared about her a great deal.” Silence, “She was my sister and I loved her.. I share your grief, so I won't pretend I know what you're feeling but Lexa was special. If you want to come to the funeral, you're welcome. I will be here packing up her stuff if you want any informations.” 

Clarke pauses, hesitates, then, nods her head once and leaves. 

She doesn't blink at all until she arrives home because if she does, she's afraid she'll never be willing to open her eyes again. 

\- 

Once inside the warmth of her father's arms, repremanding her for being gone so long, for not telling him where she was, she crumbles. She falls apart shamelessly, doesn't have the strenth to carry herself anymore. Is that what it feels like? Is that the feeling Lexa had to go through twice? 

Clarke, devastated, still finds it in herself to be bewildered by Lexa. Lexa, who is the strongest person she's ever met, Lexa who survived something she doesn't see herself ever getting through. Lexa who never gave up on her, who protected her. Lexa who's every bit as perfect as she remembered her to be. 

Lexa who's not here anymore. 

She cries in her fathert's arms for hours until she can't anymore and closes her eyes to a dreamless sleep. 

\- 

She goes to the funeral. She meets up with Anya two days later, cheeks hollow and dark eyes. She doesn't speak, and lets Anya tell her about how Lexa died, and where the funeral will take place. She doesn't have the strength to cry. She just holds up the façade and attends. 

There are a lot people, all solemn faces and sad smiles. She knows none of them except Anya. She feels foreign in the crowd, but she knows that deep down, their truth exist only for them. 

It's a beautiful ceremony and before she goes back, she leaves three white lilies on top of the casket. 

\- 

Anya gave her a key to the room and told her she could go there anytime. The room, apprently, was owned by Lexa's father. 

She goes there more often than not. She breathes in the scent in the pillow and sometimes allows herself to crumble in the silence of the room.

She considers ending her life in hopes to see Lexa again faster but she decides against it. She knows that Lexa never did something like that. She knows that Lexa would want her to live. That she wants her be the woman Lexa believes she can be. She knows all the things Lexa never had the time to tell her. 

It's written in her heart and she knows she has to keep on living. 

So she does, and it's the hardest thing she's ever done. 

She never knew life could be a prison. 

\- 

Lexa died by accident, she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and Clarke can't help but find it extremely ironic, extremely unfair because for once, they were both at the right place at the right time. She can't possibly understand how it could've happened so fast, how things could just turn on them this way, and she spends a lifetime trying to make sense of what happens. 

She feels her faith shatter a little, and she, too, starts to feel like it's a curse. 

She gets all the books from Lexa's place, the necklace and some of her clothes, closes the appartment door and never goes back. 

She plasters a smile on her face most days, marries a good man and lives her life like she's whole. 

The only thing keeping her alive is the mere chance of getting Lexa back eventually, but that faith evaporates a little bit each days, and she goes through the motions like she will never be the same. 

-

The only thing she does that's connected to Lexa is burry the necklace somewhere in the deep forest, hours away from the city. She marks every tree, every rock, tries to commit everything to memory, and leaves without a second look. 

When she finally dies, she doesn't know if she's relieved or scared. 

Either way, in every lifetime, one of them gets hurt, and a silent voice inside her heart wishes the cycle would end. 

It doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .. still sorry for the pain, you're free to insult me in the comments or @ifwearestrangers


End file.
